THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

William  B.  Vasels 


THE 

STONES   OF   VENICE: 

INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTERS  AND  LOCAL  INDICES 

(PRINTED  SEPARATELY) 
FOR  THE  USE  OF  TRAVELLERS 


WHILE  STAVING  IN 


VENICE   AND  VERONA. 


BY 

JOHN    RUSKIN,  LL.D., 

HONORARY   STUDENT    OF   CHRIST  CHURCH,    AND   SLADE    1'KOFESSOR 
OF    FINE   ART,    OXFORD. 


SELECTIONS. 


NEW   YORK   AND   SAINT    PAUL: 

D.    D.    MERRILL    COMPANY. 


Art 
Library 


871282 


PREFACE. 


THIS  volume  is  the  first  of  a  series  designed 
by  the  Author  with  the  purpose  of  placing  in 
the  hands  of  the  public,  in  more  serviceable 
form,  those  portions  of  his  earlier  works  which 
he  thinks  deserving  of  a  permanent  place  in  the 
system  of  his  general  teaching.  They  were  at 
first  intended  to  be  accompanied  by  photographic 
reductions  of  the  principal  plates  in  the  larger 
volumes;  but  this  design  has  been  modified  by 
the  Author's  increasing  desire  to  gather  his  past 
and  present  writings  into  a  consistent  body, 
illustrated  by  one  series  of  plates,  purchasable 
in  separate  parts,  and  numbered  consecutively. 
Of  other  prefatory  matter,  once  intended, — 
apologetic  mostly, — the  reader  shall  be  spared 
the  cumber:  and  a  clear  prospectus  issued  by 
the  publisher  of  the  new  series  of  plates,  as  soon 
as  they  are  in  a  state  of  forwardness. 


"•. 


IV  PREFACE. 

The  second  volume  of  this  edition  will  con- 
tain the  most  useful  matter  out  of  the  third  vol- 
ume of  the  old  one,  closed  by  its  topical  index, 
abridged  and  corrected. 

BRANTWOOD, 

yd  May,   1879. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  The  Quarry i 

II.  The  Throne, -     .     .  §S 

III.  Torcello,     ...           74 

IV.  St.  Mark's, 94 

V.  The  Ducal  Palace, 195 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

[FIRST  OF  THE  OLD  EDITION.] 
THE   QUARRY. 

§  i.  SINCE  the  first  dominion  of  men  was  as- 
serted over  the  ocean,  three  thrones,  of  mark 
beyond  all  others,  have  been  set  upon  its  sands: 
the  thrones  of  Tyre,  Venice,  and  England.  Of 
the  First  of  these  great  powers  only  the  memory 
remains;  of  the  Second,  the  ruin;  the  Third, 
which  inherits  their  greatness,  if  it  forget  their 
example,  may  be  led  through  prouder  eminence 
to  less  pitied  destruction. 

The  exaltation,  the  sin,  and  the  punishment 
of  Tyre  have  been  recorded  for  us,  in  perhaps 
the  most  touching  words  ever  uttered  by  the 
Prophets  of  Israel  against  the  cities  of  the 
stranger.  But  we  read  them  as  a  lovely  song; 
and  close  our  ears  to  the  sternness  of  their  warn- 


THE   STONES   OF   VENICE. 

ing:  for  the  very  depth  of  the  Fall  of  Tyre  has 
blinded  us  to  its  reality,  and  we  forget,  as  we 
watch  the  bleaching  of  the  rocks  between  the 
sunshine  and  the  sea,  that  they  were  once  "  as 
in  Eden,  the  garden  of  God." 

Her  successor,  like  her  in  perfection  of  beauty, 
though  less  in  endurance  of  dominion,  is  still 
left  for  our  beholding  in  the  final  period  of  her 
decline:  a  ghost  upon  the  sands  of  the  sea,  so 
weak — so  quiet, — so  bereft  of  all  but  her  loveli- 
ness, that  we  might  well  doubt,  as  we  watched 
her  faint  reflection  in  the  mirage  of  the  lagoon, 
which  was  the  City,  and  which  the  Shadow. 

I  would  endeavor  to  trace  the  lines  of  this 
image  before  it  be  for  ever  lost,  and  to  record, 
as  far  as  I  may,  the  warning  which  seems  to  me 
to  be  uttered  by  every  one  of  the  fast-gaining 
waves,  that  beat,  like  passing  bells,  against  the 
STONES  OF  VENICE. 

§  ii.  It  would  be  difficult  to  overrate  the  value 
of  the  lessons  which  might  be  derived  from  a 
faithful  study  of  the  history  of  this  strange  and 
mighty  city:  a  history  which,  in  spite  of  the 
labor  of  countless  chroniclers,  remains  in  vague 
and  disputable  outline, — barred  with  brightness 
and  shade,  like  the  far  away  edge  of  her  own 
ocean,  where  the  surf  and  the  sand-bank  are 
mingled  with  the  sky.  The  inquiries  in  which 
we  have  to  engage  will  hardly  render  this  out- 


THE   QUARRY.  3 

line  clearer,  but  their  results  will,  in  some  de- 
gree, alter  its  aspect;  and,  so  far  as  they  bear 
upon  it  at  all,  they  possess  an  interest  of  a  far 
higher  kind  than  that  usually  belonging  to  archi- 
tectural investigations.  I  may,  perhaps,  in  the 
outset,  and  in  few  words,  enable  the  general 
reader  to  form  a  clearer  idea  of  the  importance 
of  every  existing  expression  of  Venetian  charac- 
ter through  Venetian  art,  and  of  the  breadth  of 
interest  which  the  true  history  of  Venice  em- 
braces, than  he  is  likely  to  have  gleaned  from 
the  current  fables  of  her  mystery  or  magnifi- 
cence. 

§  in.  Venice  is  usually  conceived  as  an  oli- 
garchy: She  was  so  during  a  period  less  than 
the  half  of  her  existence,  and  that  including  the 
days  of  her  decline;  and  it  is  one  of  the  first 
questions  needing  severe  examination,  whether 
that  decline  was  owing  in  any  wise  to  the  change 
in  the  form  of  her  government,  or  altogether,  as 
assuredly  in  great  part,  to  changes,  in  the  char- 
acter of  the  persons  of  whom  it  was  composed. 

The  state  of  Venice  existed  Thirteen  Hun- 
dred and  Seventy-six  years,  from  the  first  estab- 
lishment of  a  consular  government  on  the  island 
of  the  Rialto,*  to  the  moment  when  the  General- 
in-chief  of  the  French  army  of  Italy  pronounced 

*  Appendix  I.,  "  Foundations  of  Venice." 


4  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

the  Venetian  republic  a  thing  of  the  past.  Of 
this  period,  Two  Hundred  and  Seventy-six 
years*  were  passed  in  a  nominal  subjection  to  the 
cities  of  old  Venetia,  especially  to  Padua,  and 
in  an  agitated  form  of  democracy,  of  which  the 
executive  appears  to  have  been  entrusted  to 
tribunes,!  chosen,  one  by  the  inhabitants  of  each 
of  the  principal  islands.  For  six  hundred  years, \ 
during  which  the  power  of  Venice  was  continu- 
ally on  the  increase,  her  government  was  an  elec- 
tive monarchy,  her  King  or  doge  possessing,  in 
early  times  at  least,  as  much  independent  au- 
thority as  any  other  European  sovereign,  but  an 
authority  gradually  subjected  to  limitation,  and 
shortened  almost  daily  of  its  prerogatives,  while 
it  increased  in  a  spectral  and  incapable  magnifi- 
cence. The  final  government  of  the  nobles, 
under  the  image  of  a  king,  lasted  for  five  hun- 
dred years,  during  which  Venice  reaped  the 
fruits  of  her  former  energies,  consumed  them, — 
and  expired. 

§  iv.  Let  the  reader  therefore  conceive  the 
existence  of  the  Venetian  state  as  broadly  di- 
vided into  two  periods:  the  first  of  nine  hundred, 
the  second  of  five  hundred  years,  the  separation 
being  marked  by  what  was  called  the  "  Serrar 

*  Appendix  II.,  "  Power  of  the  Doges." 

f  Sismondi,  Hist,  des  Rep.  Ital.,  vol.  i.  ch.  v. 

\  Appendix  III..  "  Serrar  del  Consiglio." 


THE   QUARRY.  5 

del  Consiglio;"  that  is  to  say,  the  final  and  abso- 
lute distinction  of  the  nobles  from  the  common- 
alty, and  the  establishment  of  the  government  in 
their  hands  to  the  exclusion  alike  of  the  influence 
of  the  people  on  the  one  side,  and  the  authority 
of  the  doge  on  the  other. 

Then  the  first  period,  of  nine  hundred  years, 
presents  us  with  the  most  interesting  spectacle 
of  a  people  struggling  out  of  anarchy  into  order 
and  power;  and  then  governed,  for  the  most 
part,  by  the  worthiest  and  noblest  man  whom 
they  could  find  among  them,*  called  their  Doge 
or  Leader,  with  an  aristocracy  gradually  and 
resolutely  forming  itself  around  him,  out  of 
which,  and  at  last  by  which,  he  was  chosen;  an 
aristocracy  owing  its  origin  to  the  accidental 
numbers,  influence,  and  wealth  of  some  among 
the  families  of  the  fugitives  from  the  older  Vene- 
tia,  and  gradually  organizing  itself,  by  its  unity 
and  heroism,  into  a  separate  body. 

This  first  period  includes  the  rise  of  Venice, 
her  noblest  achievements,  and  the  circumstances 
which  determined  her  character  and  position 
among  European  powers;  and  within  its  range, 
as  might  have  been  anticipated,  we  find  the 

*  "  Ha  saputo  trovar  modo  che  non  uno,  non  pochi, 
non  molti,  signoreggiano,  ma  mold  buoni,  pochi  migliori, 
e  insiememente,  un  ottimo solo."  (Sansovino.)  Ah,  well 
done,  Venice!  Wisdom  this,  indeed. 


0  THE   STOArES  OF    VENICE. 

names  of  all  her  hero  princes, — of  Pietro  Urseolo, 
Ordalafo  Falier,  Domenico  Michieli,  Sebastiano 
Ziani,  and  Enrico  Dandolo. 

§  v.  The  second  period  opens  with  a  hundred 
and  twenty  years,  th.e  most  eventful  in  the  career 
of  Venice — the  central  struggle  of  her  life — 
stained  with  her  darkest  crime,  the  murder  of 
Carrara — disturbed  by  her  most  dangerous  in- 
ternal sedition,  the  conspiracy  of  Falier — op- 
pressed by  her  most  fatal  war,  the  war  of  Chiozza 
— and  distinguished  by  the  glory  of  her  two 
noblest  citizene  (for  in  this  period  the  heroism 
of  her  citizens  replaces  that  of  her  monarchs), 
Vittor  Pisani  and  Carlo  Zeno. 

I  date  the  commencement  of  the  Fall  of  Ven- 
ice from  the  death  of  Carlo  Zeno,  8th  May, 
1418;  *  the  visible  commencement  from  that  of 
another  of  her  noblest  and  wisest  children,  the 
Uoge  Tomaso  Mocenigo,  who  expired  five  years 
later.  The  reign  of  Foscari  followed,  gloomy 
with  pestilence  and  war;  a  war  in  which  large 
acquisitions  of  territory  were  made  by  subtle  or 
fortunate  policy  in  Lombardy,  and  disgrace,  sig- 
nificant as  irreparable,  sustained  in  the  battles 
on  the  Po  at  Cremona,  and  in  the  marshes  of 
Caravaggio.  In  1454,  Venice,  the  first  of  the 
states  of  Christendom,  humiliated  herself  to  the 

*  Daru,  liv.  xii.  ch.  xii. 


THE   QUARRY.  ^ 

Turk:  in  the  same  year  was  established  the  In- 
quisition of  State,*  and  from  this  period  her 
government  takes  the  perfidious  and  mysterious 
form  under  which  it  is  usually  conceived.  In 
1477,  tne  great  Turkish  invasion  spread  terror 
to  the  shores  of  the  lagoons;  and  in  1508  the 
league  of  Cambrai  marks  the  period  usually  as- 
signed as  the  commencement  of  the  decline  of 
the  Venetian  power;  f  the  commercial  prosperity 
of  Venice  in  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century 
blinding  her  historians  to  the  previous  evidence 
of  the  diminution  of  her  internal  strength. 

§  vi.  Now  there  is  apparently  a  significative 
coincidence  between  the  establishment  of  the 
aristocratic  and  oligarchical  powers,  and  the 
diminution  of  the  prosperity  of  the  state.  But 
this  is  the  very  question  at  issue;  and  it  appears 
to  me  quite  undetermined  by  any  historian,  or 
determined  by  each  in  accordance  with  his  own 
prejudices.  It  is  a  triple  question:  first,  whether 
the  oligarchy  established  by  the  efforts  of  indi- 


*  Daru,  liv.  xvi.  cap.  xx.  We  owe  to  this  historian 
the  discovery  of  the  statutes  of  the  tribunal  and  date  of 
its  establishment. 

f  Ominously  signified  by  their  humiliation  to  the  Papal 
power  (as  before  to  the  Turkish)  in  1 509,  and  their  aban- 
donment of  their  right  of  appointing  the  clergy  of  their 
territories. 


THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

vidual  ambition  was  the  cause,  in  its  subsequent 
operation,  of  the  Fall  of  Venice;  or  (secondly) 
whether  the  establishment  of  the  oligarchy  itself 
be  not  the  sign  and  evidence,  rather  than  the 
cause,  of  national  enervation;  or  (lastly)  whether, 
as  I  rather  think,  the  history  of  Venice  might 
not  be  written  almost  without  reference  to  the 
construction  of  her  senate  or  the  prerogatives  of 
her  Doge.  It  is  the  history  of  a  people  emi- 
nently at  unity  in  itself,  descendants  of  Roman 
race,  long  disciplined  by  adversity,  and  com- 
pelled by  its  position  either  to  live  nobly  or  to 
perish: — for  a  thousand  years  they  fought  for 
life;  for  three  hundred  they  invited  death:  their 
battle  was  rewarded,  and  their  call  was  heard. 

§  vii.  Throughout  her  career,  the  victories  of 
Venice,  and,  at  many  periods  of  it,  her  safety, 
were  purchased  by  individual  heroism;  and  the 
man  who  exalted  or  saved  her  was  sometimes 
(oftenest)  her  king,  sometimes  a  noble,  some- 
times a  citizen.  To  him  no  matter,  nor  to  her: 
the  real  question  is,  not  so  much  what  names 
they  bore,  or  with  what  powers  they  were  en- 
trusted, as  how  they  were  trained;  how  they 
were  made  masters  of  themselves,  servants  of 
their  country,  patient  of  distress,  impatient  of 
dishonor;  and  what  was  the  true  reason  of  the 
change  from  the  time  when  she  could  find  sav- 
iours among  those  whom  she  had  cast  into  prison, 


THE   QUARRY.  9 

to  that  when  the  voices  of  her  own  children 
commanded  her  to  sign  covenant  with  Death.* 

§  VIIL  On  this  collateral  question  I  wish  the 
reader's  mind  to  be  fixed  throughout  all  our  sub- 
sequent inquiries.  It  will  give  double  interest  to 
every  detail:  nor  will  the  interest  be  profitless; 
for  the  evidence  which  I  shall  be  able  to  deduce 
from  the  arts  of  Venice  will  be  both  frequent 
and  irrefragable,  that  the  decline  of  her  political 
prosperity  was  exactly  coincident  with  that  of 
domestic  and  individual  religion. 

I  say  domestic  and  individual;  for — and  this 
is  the  second  point  which  I  wish  the  reader  to 
keep  in  mind — the  most  curious  phenomenon  in 
all  Venetian  history  is  the  vitality  of  religion  in 
private  life,  and  its  deadness  in  public  policy. 
Amidst  the  enthusiasm,  chivalry,  or  fanaticism 
of  the  other  states  of  Europe,  Venice  stands, 
from  first  to  last,  like  a  masked  statue;  her  cold- 
ness impenetrable,  her  exertion  only  aroused  by 
the  touch  of  a  secret  spring.  That  spring  was  her 
commercial  interest, — this  the  one  motive  of  all 
her  important  political  acts,  or  enduring  national 
animosities.  She  could  forgive  insults  to  her 
honor,  but  never  rivalship  in  her  commerce;  she 
calculated  the  glory  of  her  conquests  by  their 
value,  and  estimated  their  justice  by  their  facility. 

*  The  senate  voted  the  abdication  of  their  authority  by 
a  majority  of  512  to  14.  (Alison,  ch.  xxiii.) 


IO  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

The  fame  of  success  remains,  when  the  motives 
of  attempt  are  forgotten;  and  the  casual  reader 
of  her  history  may  perhaps  be  surprised  to  be 
reminded,  that  the  expedition  which  was  com- 
manded by  the  noblest  of  her  princes,  and  whose 
results  added  most  to  her  military  glory,  was  one 
in  which  while  all  Europe  around  her  was  wasted 
by  the  fire  of  its  devotion,  she  first  calculated 
the  highest  price  she  could  exact  from  its  piety 
for  the  armament  she  furnished,  and  then,  for 
the  advancement  of  her  own  private  interests,  at 
once  broke  her  faith*  and  betrayed  her  religion. 
§  ix.  And  yet,  in  the  midst  of  this  national 
criminality,  we  shall  be  struck  again  and  again 
by  the  evidences  of  the  most  noble  individual 
feeling.  The  tears  of  Dandolo  were  not  shed 
in  hypocrisy,  though  they  could  not  blind  him 
to  the  importance  of  the  conquest  of  Zara.  The 
habit  of  assigning  to  religion  a  direct  influence 
over  all  his  own  actions,  and  all  the  affairs  of 
his  own  daily  life,  is  remarkable  in  every  great 
Venetian  during  the  times  of  the  prosperity  of 
the  state;  nor  are  instances  wanting  in  which 
the  private  feeling  of  the  citizens  reaches  the 
sphere  of  their  policy,  and  even  becomes  the 
guide  of  its  course  where  the  scales  of  expe- 
diency are  doubtfully  balanced.  I  sincerely  trust 

*  By  directing  the  arms  of  the  Crusaders  against  a 
Christian  prince.     (Daru,  liv.  iv.  ch.  iv.  viii.) 


THE    QUARRY.  II 

that  the  inquirer  would  be  disappointed  who 
should  endeavor  to  trace  any  more  immediate 
reasons  for  their  adoption  of  the  cause  of  Alex- 
ander III.  against  Barbarossa,  than  the  piety 
which  was  excited  by  the  character  of  their 
suppliant,  and  the  noble  pride  which  was  pro- 
voked by  the  insolence  of  the  emperor.  But 
the  heart  of  Venice  is  shown  only  in  her  hastiest 
councils;  her  worldly  spirit  recovers  the  ascen- 
dency whenever  she  has  time  to  calculate  the 
probabilities  of  advantage,  or  when  they  are 
sufficiently  distinct  to  need  no  calculation;  and 
the  entire  subjection  of  private  piety  to  national 
policy  is  not  only  remarkable  throughout  the 
almost  endless  series  of  treacheries  and  tyran- 
nies by  which  her  empire  was  enlarged  and 
maintained,  but  symbolized  by  a  very  singular 
circumstance  in  the  building  of  the  city  itself. 
I  am  aware  of  no  other  city  of  Europe  in  which 
its  cathedral  was  not  the  principal  feature.  But 
the  principal  church  in  Venice  was  the  chapel 
attached  to  the  palace  of  her  prince,  and  called 
the  "  Chiesa  Ducale."  The  patriarchal  church,* 
inconsiderable  in  size  and  mean  in  decoration, 
stands  on  the  outermost  islet  of  the  Venetian 
group,  and  its  name,  as  well  as  its  site,  is  prob- 
ably unknown  to  the  greater  number  of  travel- 

*  Appendix  4,  "  San  Pietro  di  Castello." 


12  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

lers  passing  hastily  through  the  city.  Nor  is  it 
less  worthy  of  remark,  that  the  two  most  im- 
portant temples  of  Venice,  next  to  the  ducal 
chapel,  owe  their  size  and  magnificence,  not  to 
national  effort,  but  to  the  energy  of  the  Francis- 
can and  Dominican  monks,  supported  by  the 
vast  organization  of  those  great  societies  on  the 
mainland  of  Italy,  and  countenanced  by  the 
most  pious,  and  perhaps  also,  in  his  generation, 
the  most  wise,  of  all  the  princes  of  Venice,*  who 
now  rests  beneath  the  roof  of  one  of  those  very 
temples,  and  whose  life  is  not  satirized  by  the 
images  of  the  Virtues  which  a  Tuscan  sculptor 
has  placed  around  his  tomb. 

§  x.  There  are,  therefore,  two  strange  and 
solemn  lights  in  which  we  have  to  regard  almost 
every  scene  in  the  fitful  history  of  the  Rivo  Alto. 
We  find,  on  the  one  hand,  a  deep  and  constant 
tone  of  individual  religion  characterizing  the 
lives  of  the  citizens  of  Venice  in  her  greatness; 
we  find  this  spirit  influencing  them  in  all  the 
familiar  and  immediate  concerns  of  life,  giving 
a  peculiar  dignity  to  the  conduct  even  of  their 
commercial  transactions,  and  confessed  by  them 
with  a  simplicity  of  faith  that  may  well  put  to 
shame  the  hesitation  with  which  a  man  of  the 
world  at  present  admits  (even  if  it  be  so  in 

*  Tomaso  Mocenigo,  above  named,  §  v. 


THE   QUARRY.  1 3 

reality)  that  religious  feeling  has  any  influence 
over  the  minor  branches  of  his  conduct.  And 
we  find  as  the  natural  consequence  of  all  this, 
a  healthy  serenity  of  mind  and  energy  of  will 
expressed  in  all  their  actions,  and  a  habit  of 
heroism  which  never  fails  them,  even  when  the 
immediate  motive  of  action  ceases  to  be  praise- 
worthy. With  the  fulness  of  this  spirit  the 
prosperity  of  the  state  is  exactly  correspondent, 
and  with  its  failure  her  decline,  and  that  with  a 
closeness  and  precision  which  it  will  be  one  of 
the  collateral  objects  of  the  following  essay  to 
demonstrate  from  such  accidental  evidence  as 
the  field  of  its  inquiry  presents.  And,  thus  far, 
all  is  natural  and  simple.  But  the  stopping 
short  of  this  religious  faith  when  it  appears 
likely  to  influence  national  action,  correspond- 
ent as  it  is,  and  that  most  strikingly,  with  sev- 
eral characteristics  of  the  temper  of  our  pres- 
ent English  legislature,  is  a  subject,  morally  and 
politically,  of  the  most  curious  interest  and 
complicated  difficulty;  one,  however,  which  the 
range  of  my  present  inquiry  will  not  permit  me 
to  approach,  and  for  the  treatment  of  which  I 
must  be  content  to  furnish  materials  in  the  light 
I  may  be  able  to  throw  upon  the  private  tenden- 
cies of  the  Venetian  character. 

§  xi.  There  is,  however,  another  most  inter- 
esting  feature   in  the  policy   of  Venice   which 


14  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

will  be  often  brought  before  us;  and  which  a 
Romanist  would  gladly  assign  as  the  reason  of 
its  irreligion;  namely,  the  magnificent  and  suc- 
cessful struggle  which  she  maintained  against 
the  temporal  authority  of  the  Church  of  Rome. 
It  is  true  that,  in  a  rapid  survey  of  her  career,  the 
eye  is  at  first  arrested  by  the  strange  drama  to 
which  I  have  already  alluded,  closed  by  that  ever 
memorable  scene  in  the  portico  of  St.  Mark's,* 
the  central  expression  in  most  men's  thoughts 
of  the  unendurable  elevation  of  the  pontifical 
power;  it  is  crue  that  the  proudest  thoughts 
of  Venice,  as  well  as  the  insignia  of  her  prince, 
and  the  form  of  her  chief  festival,  recorded  the 
service  thus  rendered  to  the  Roman  Church. 
But  the  enduring  sentiment  of  years  more  than 
balanced  the  enthusiasm  of  a  moment;  and  the 

*  "  In  that  temple  porch, 
(The  brass  is  gone,  the  porphyry  remains,) 
Did  BARBAROSSA  fling  his  mantle  off, 
And  kneeling,  on  his  neck  receive  the  foot 
Of  the  proud  Pontiff — thus  at  last  consoled 
For  flight,  disguise,  and  many  an  aguish  shake 
On  his  stony  pillow." 

I  need  hardly  say  whence  the  lines  are  taken:  Rogers' 
"  Italy"  has,  I  believe,  now  a  place  in  the  best  beloved 
compartment  of  all  libraries,  and  will  never  be  removed 
from  it.  There  is  more  true  expression  of  the  spirit  of 
Venice  in  the  passages  devoted  to  her  in  that  poem,  than 
in  all  else  that  has  been  written  of  her. 


THE    QUARRY.  1 5 

bull  of  Clement  V.,  which  excommunicated  the 
Venetians  and  their  doge,  likening  them  to 
Dathan,  Abiram,  Absalom,  and  Lucifer,  is  a 
stronger  evidence  of  the  great  tendencies  of  the 
Venetian  government  than  the  umbrella  of  the 
doge  or  the  ring  of  the  Adriatic.  The  humil- 
iation of  Francesco  Dandolo  blotted  out  the 
shame  of  Barbarossa,  and  the  total  exclusion  of 
ecclesiastics  from  all  share  in  the  councils  of 
Venice  became  an  enduring  mark  of  her  knowl- 
edge of  the  spirit  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  and 
of  her  defiance  of  it. 

To  this  exclusion  of  Papal  influence  from  her 
councils,  the  Romanist  will  attribute  their  irre- 
ligion,  and  the  Protestant  their  success.*  The 
first  may  be  silenced  by  a  reference  to  the  char- 
acter of  the  policy  of  the  Vatican  itself;  and  the 
second  by  his  own  shame,  when  he  reflects  that 
the  English  legislature  sacrificed  their  principles 
to  expose  themselves  to  the  very  danger  which 
the  Venetian  senate  sacrificed  theirs  to  avoid. 

§  xn.  One  more  circumstance  remains  to  be 
noted  respecting  the  Venetian  government,  the 
singular  unity  of  the  families  composing  it, — 
unity  far  from  sincere  or  perfect,  but  still  ad- 
mirable when  contrasted  with  the  fiery  feuds,  the 

*  At  least,  such  success  as  they  had.  Vide  Appendix  5> 
"  The  Papal  Power  in  Venice." 


1 6  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

almost  daily  revolutions,  the  restless  successions 
of  families  and  parties  in  power,  which  fill  the 
annals  of  the  other  states  of  Italy.  That  rival- 
ship  should  sometimes  be  ended  by  the  dagger, 
or  enmity  conducted  to  its  ends  under  the  mask 
of  law,  could  not  but  be  anticipated  where  the 
fierce  Italian  spirit  was  subjected  to  so  severe 
a  restraint:  it  is  much  that  jealousy  appears  us- 
ually unmingled  with  illegitimate  ambition,  and 
that,  for  every  instance  in  which  private  passion 
sought  its  gratification  through  public  danger, 
there  are  a  thousand  in  which  it  was  sacrificed 
to  the  public  advantage.  Venice  may  well  call 
upon  us  to  note  with  reverence,  that  of  all  the 
towers  which  are  still  seen  rising  like  a  branchless 
forest  from  her  islands,  there  is  but  one  whose 
office  was  other  than  that  of  summoning  to 
prayer,  and  that  one  was  a  watch-tower  only:f 
from  first  to  last,  while  the  palaces  of  the  other 
cities  of  Italy  were  lifted  into  sullen  fortitudes 
of  rampart,  and  fringed  with  forked  battlements 
for  the  javelin  and  the  bow,  the  sands  of  Venice 
never  sank  under  the  weight  of  a  war  tower, 
and  her  roof  terraces  were  wreathed  with  Ara- 
bian imagery,  of  golden  globes  suspended  on  the 
leaves  of  lilies.* 

f  [Thus  literally  was  fulfilled  the  promise  to  St.  Mark, — 
Pax  e.] 

*  The  inconsiderable  fortifications  of  the  arsenal  are  no 


THE  QUARRY.  I/ 

|  xni.  These,  then,  appear  to  me  to  be  the 
points  of  chief  general  Interest  in  the  character 
and  fate  of  the  Venetian  people.  I  would 
next  endeavor  to  give  the  reader  some  idea  of 
the  manner  in  which  the  testimony  of  Art  bears 
upon  these  questions,  and  of  the  aspect  which 
the  arts  themselves  assume  when  they  are  re- 
garded in  their  true  connection  with  the  history 
of  the  state. 

ist.  Receive  the  witness  of  Painting. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  I  put  the  com- 
mencement of  the  Fall  of  Venice  as  far  back  as 
1418. 

Now,  John  Bellini  was  born  in  1423,  and 
Titian  in  1480.  John  Bellini,  and  his  brother 
Gentile,  two  years  older  than  he,  close  the  line 
of  the  sacred  painters  of  Venice.  But  the  most 
solemn  spirit  of  religious  faith  animates  their 
works  to  the  last.  There  is  no  religion  in  any 
work  of  Titian's:  there  is  not  even  the  smallest 
evidence  of  religious  temper  or  sympathies  either 
in  himself,  or  in  those  for  whom  he  painted. 
His  larger  sacred  subjects  are  merely  themes 
for  the  exhibition  of  pictorial  rhetoric, — com- 
position and  color.  His  minor  works  are  gen- 
erally made  subordinate  to  purposes  of  portrait- 
exception  to  this  statement,  as  far  as  it  regards  the  city 
itself.  They  are  little  more  than  a  semblance  of  precau- 
tion against  the  attack  of  a  foreign  enemy. 


1 8  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

ure.  The  Madonna  in  the  church  of  the  Frari 
is  a  mere  lay  figure,  introduced  to  form  a  link  of 
connection  between  the  portraits  of  various  mem- 
bers of  the  Pesaro  family  who  surround  her. 

Now  this  is  not  merely  because  John  Bellini 
was  a  religious  man  and  Titian  was  not.  Titian 
and  Bellini  are  each  true  representatives  of  the 
school  of  painters  contemporary  with  them;  and 
the  difference  in  their  artistic  feeling  is  a  conse- 
quence not  so  much  of  difference  in  their  own 
natural  characters  as  in  their  early  education: 
Bellini  was  brought  up  in  faith;  Titian-in  for- 
malism. Between  the  years  of  their  births  the 
vital  religion  of  Venice  had  expired. 

§  xiv.  The  vital  religion,  observe,  not  the  for- 
mal. Outward  observance  was  as  strict  as  ever; 
and  doge  and  senator  still  were  painted,  in  al- 
most every  important  instance,  kneeling  before 
the  Madonna  or  St.  Mark;  a  confession  of  faith 
made  universal  by  the  pure  gold  of  the  Venetian 
sequin.  But  observe  the  great  picture  of  Titian's 
in  the  ducal  palace,  of  the  Doge  Antonio  Gri- 
mani  kneeling  before  Faith:  there  is  a  curious 
lesson  in  it.  The  figure  of  Faith  is  a  coarse 
portrait  of  one  of  Titian's  least  graceful  female 
models:  Faith  had  become  carnal.  The  eye  is 
first  caught  by  the  flash  of  the  Doge's  armor. 
The  heart  of  Venice  was  in  her  wars,  not  in  her 
worship. 


THE   QUARRY.  19 

The  mind  of  Tintoret,  incomparably  more 
deep  and  serious  than  that  of  Titian,  casts  the 
solemnity  of  its  own  tone  over  the  sacred  sub- 
jects which  it  approaches,  and  sometimes  forgets 
itself  into  devotion;  but  the  principle  of  treat- 
ment is  altogether  the  same  as  Titian's:  absolute 
subordination  of  the  religious  subject  to  pur- 
poses of  decoration  or  portraiture. 

The  evidence  might  be  accumulated  a  thou- 
sandfold from  the  works  of  Veronese,  and  of 
every  succeeding  painter, — that  the  fifteenth 
century  had  taken  away  the  religious  heart  of 
Venice. 

§  xv.  Such  is  the  evidence  of  Painting.  To 
collect  that  of  Architecture  will  be  our  task 
through  many  a  page  to  come;  but  I  must  here 
give  a  general  idea  of  its  heads. 

Philippe  de  Commynes,  writing  of  his  entry 
into  Venice  in  1495,  says, — 

"  Chascun  me  feit  seoir  au  meillieu  de  ces 
deux  ambassadeurs  qui  est  1'honneur  d'ltalie 
que  d'estre  au  meillieu;  et  me  menerent  au  long 
de  la  grant  rue,  qu'ilz  appellent  le  Canal  Grant, 
et  est  bien  large.  Les  gallees  y  passent  a  travers 
et  y  ay  veu  navire  de  quatre  cens  tonneaux  ou 
plus  pres  des  maisons:  et  est  la  plus  belle  rue 
que  je  croy  qui  soit  en  tout  le  monde,  et  la 
mieulx  maisonnee,  et  va  le  long  de  la  ville.  Les 
maisons  sont  fort  grandes  et  haultes,  et  de  bonne 


20  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

pierre,  et  les  anciennes  toutes  painctes;  les  aul 
tres  faictes  depuis  cent  ans:  toutes  ont  le  devant 
de  marbre  blanc,  qui  leur  vient  d'Istrie,  a  cent 
mils  de  la,  et  encores  maincte  grant  piece  de 
porphire  et  de  sarpentine  sur  le  devant.  .  .  . 
C'est  la  plus  triumphante  cite  que  j'aye  jamais 
veue  et  qui  plus  faict  d'honneur  a  ambassadeurs 
et  estrangiers,  et  qui  plus  saigement  se  gouverne, 
et  oii  le  service  de  Dieu  est  le  plus  sollempnelle- 
ment  faict:  et  encores  qu'il  y  peust  bien  avoir 
d'aultres  faultes,  si  croy  je  que  Dieu  les  a  en 
ayde  pour  la  reverence  qu'ilz  portent  au  service 
de  1'Eglise."* 

§  xvi.  This  passage  is  of  peculiar  interest,  for 
two  reasons.  Observe,  first,  the  impression  of 
Commynes  respecting  the  religion  of  Venice:  of 
which,  as  I  have  above  said,  the  forms  still, re- 
mained with  some  glimmering  of  life  in  them, 
and  were  the  evidence  of  what  the  real  life  had 
been  in  former  times.  But  observe,  secondly, 
the  impression  instantly  made  on  Commynes' 
mind  by  the  distinction  between  the  elder  pal- 
aces and  those  built  "  within  this  last  hundred 
years;  which  all  have  their  fronts  of  white  mar- 
ble brought  from  Istria,  a  hundred  miles  away, 
and  besides,  many  a  large  piece  of  porphyry  and 
serpentine  upon  their  fronts." 


*Memoiresde  Commynes,  liv.  vii..  ch.  xviii. 


THE   QUARRY.  21 

On  the  opposite  page  I  have  given  two  o.  the 
ornaments  of  the  palaces  which  so  struck  the 
French  ambassador.*  He  was  right  in  his  notice 
of  the  distinction.  There  had  indeed  come  a 
change  over  Venetian  architecture  in  the  fif- 
teenth century;  and  a  change  of  some  impor- 
tance to  us  moderns:  we  English  owe  to  it  our 
St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  and  Europe  in  general 
owes  to  it  the  utter  degradation  or  destruction  of 
her  schools  of  architecture,  never  since  revived. 
But  that  the  reader  may  understand  this,  it  is 
necessary  that  he  should  have  some  general  idea 
of  the  connection  of  the  architecture  of  Venice 
with  that  of  the  rest  of  Europe,  from  its  origin 
forwards. 

§  xvn.  All  European  architecture,  bad  and 
good,  old  and  new,  is  derived  from  Greece 
through  Rome,  and  colored  and  perfected  from 
the  East.  The  history  of  architecture  is  noth- 
ing but  the  tracing  of  the  various  modes  and 
directions  of  this  derivation.  Understand  this, 
once  for  all:  if  you  hold  fast  this  great  connect- 
ing clue,  you  may  string  all  the  types  of  succes- 
sive architectural  invention  upon  it  like  so  many 
beads.  The  Doric  and  the  Corinthian  orders 
are  the  roots,  the  one  of  all  Romanesque,  massy  - 
capitaled  buildings — Norman,  Lombard,  Byzan- 

*  Appendix  6,  "  Renaissance  Ornaments." 


THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

tine,  and  what  else  you  can  name  of  the  kind; 
and  the  Corinthian  of  all  Gothic,  Early  English, 
French,  German,  and  Tuscan.  Now  observe: 
those  old  Greeks  gave  the  shaft;  Rome  gave  the 
arch;  the  Arabs  pointed  and  foliated  the  arch. 
The  shaft  and  arch,  the  frame-work  and  strength 
of  architecture,  are  from  the  race  of  Japhethi 
the  spirituality  and  sanctity  of  it  from  Ismael, 
Abraham,  and  Shem. 

9  xvni.  There  is  high  probability  that  the 
Greek  received  his  shaft  system  from  Egypt; 
but  I  do  not  care  to  keep  this  earlier  derivation 
in  the  mind  of  the  reader.  It  is  only  necessary 
that  he  should  be  able  to  refer  to  a  fixed  point 
of  origin,  when  the  form  of  the  shaft  was  first 
perfected.  But  it  may  be  incidently  observed, 
that  if  the  Greeks  did  indeed  receive  their  Doric 
from  Egypt,  then  the  three  families  of  the  earth 
have  each  contributed  their  part  to  its  noblest 
architecture:  and  Ham,  the  servant  of  the  others, 
furnishes  the  sustaining  or  bearing  member,  the 
shaft;  Japheth  the  arch;  Shem  the  spiritualiza- 
tion  of  both. 

§  xix.  I  have  said  that  the  two  orders,  Doric 
and  Corinthian,  are  the  roots  of  all  European 
architecture.  You  have,  perhaps,  heard  of  five 
orders;  but  there  are  only  two  real  orders,  and 
there  never  can  be  any  more  until  doomsday. 
On  one  of  these  orders  the  ornament  is  convex: 


THE   QUARRY.  2$ 

those  are  Doric,  Norman,  and  what  else  you 
recollect  of  the  kind.  On  the  other  the  orna- 
ment is  concave:  those  are  Corinthian,  Early 
English,  Decorated,  and  what  else  you  recollect 
of  that  kind.  The  transitional  form,  in  which 
the  ornamental  line  is  straight,  is  the  centre  or 
root  of  both.  All  other  orders  are  varieties  of 
those,  or  phantasms  and  grotesques  altogether 
indefinite  in  number  and  species.* 

§  xx.  This  Greek  architecture,  then,  with  its 
two  orders,  was  clumsily  copied  and  varied  by 
the  Romans  with  no  particular  result,  until  they 
begun  to  bring  the  arch  into  extensive  practical 
service;  except  only  that  the  Doric  capital  was 
spoiled  in  endeavors  to  mend  it,  and  the  Corinth- 
ian much  varied  and  enriched  with  fanciful,  and 
often  very  beautiful  imagery.  And  in  this  state 
of  things  came  Christianity:  seized  upon  the  arch 
as  her  own;  decorated  it,  and  delighted  in  it; 
invented  a  new  Doric  capital  to  replace  the 
spoiled  Roman  one:  and  all  over  the  Roman 
empire  set  to  work,  with  such  materials  as  were 
nearest  at  hand,  to  express  and  adorn  herself  as 
best  she  could.  This  Roman  Christian  architect- 
ure is  the  exact  expression  of  the  Christianity 
of  the  time,  very  fervid  and  beautiful — but  very 
imperfect;  in  many  respects  ignorant,  and  yet 

*  Appendix  7,  "Varieties  of  the  Orders." 


24  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

radiant  with  a  strong,  childlike  light  of  imagina- 
tion, which  flames  up  under  Constantine,  illu- 
mines all  the  shores  of  the  Bosphorus  and  the 
y£gean  and  the  Adriatic  Sea,  and  then  gradu- 
ally, as  the  people  give  themselves  up  to  idola- 
try, becomes  Corpse-light.  The  architecture 
sinks  into  a  settled  form — a  strange,  gilded,  and 
embalmed  repose:  it,  with  the  religion  it  ex- 
pressed; and  so  would  have  remained  for  ever, 
— so  does  remain,  where  its  languor  has  been  un- 
disturbed.* But  rough  wakening  was  ordained 
§  xxi.  This  Christian  art  of  the  declining 
empire  is  divided  into  two  great  branches,  west- 
ern and  eastern;  one  centred  at  Rome,  the  other 
at  Byzantium,  of  which  the  one  is  the  early 
Christian  Romanesque,  properly  so  called,  and 
the  other,  carried  to  higher  imaginative  perfec- 
tion by  Greek  workmen,  is  distinguished  from  it 
as  Byzantine.  But  I  wish  the  reader,  for  the 
present,  to  class  these  two  branches  of  art  to- 
gether in  his  mind,  they  being,  in  points  of  main 
importance,  the  same;  that  is  to  say,  both  of 
them  a  true  continuance  and  sequence  of  the  art 
of  old  Rome  itself,  flowing  uninterruptedly  down 

*The  reader  will  find  the  weak  points  of  Byzantine 
architecture  shrewdly  seized,  and  exquisitely  sketched,  in 
the  opening  chapter  of  the  most  delightful  book  of  travels 
I  ever  opened, — Curzon's  "  Monasteries  of  the  Levant." 
for  it. 


THE    QUARRY.  2$ 

from  the  fountain-head,  and  entrusted  always  to 
the  best  workmen  who  could  be  found — Latins 
in  Italy  and  Greeks  in  Greece;  and  thus  both 
branches  may  be  ranged  under  the  general  term 
of  Christian  Romanesque,  an  architecture  which 
had  lost  the  refinement  of  Pagan  art  in  the  deg- 
radation of  the  empire,  but  which  was  elevated 
by  Christianity  to  higher  aims,  and  by  the  fancy 
of  the  Greek  workmen  endowed  with  brighter 
forms.  And  this  art  the  reader  may  conceive  as 
extending  in  its  various  branches  over  all  the 
central  provinces  of  the  empire,  taking  aspects 
more  or  less  refined,  according  to  its  proximity 
to  the  seats  of  government;  dependent  for  all  its 
power  on  the  vigor  and  freshness  of  the  religion 
which  animated  it;  and  as  that  vigor  and  purity 
departed,  losing  its  own  vitality,  and  sinking  into 
nerveless  rest,  not  deprived  of  its  beauty,  but 
benumbed  and  incapable  of  advance  or  change. 
§  xxii.  Meantime  there  had  been  preparation 
for  its  renewal.  While  in  Rome  and  Constanti- 
nople, and  in  the  districts  ander  their  immediate 
influence,  this  Roman  art  of  pure  descent  was 
practised  in  all  its  refinement,  an  impure  form  of 
it — a  patois  of  Romanesque — was  carried  by  in- 
ferior workmen  into  distant  provinces;  and  still 
ruder  imitations  of  this  patois  were  executed  by 
the  barbarous  nations  on  the  skirts  of  the  empire. 
But  these  barbarous  nations  were  in  the  strength 


26  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

of  their  youth;  and  while,  in  the  centre  of  Eu- 
rope, a  refined  and  purely  descended  art  was 
sinking  into  graceful  formalism,  on  its  confines 
a  barbarous  and  borrowed  art  was  organizing  it- 
self into  strength  and  consistency.  The  reader 
must  therefore  consider  the  history  of  the  work 
of  the  period  as  broadly  divided  into  two  great 
heads:  the  one  embracing  the  elaborately  languid 
succession  of  the  Christian  art  of  Rome;  and 
the  other,  the  imitations  of  it  executed  by  na- 
tions in  every  conceivable  phase  of  early  organi- 
zation, on  the  edges  of  the  empire,  or  included 
in  its  now  merely  nominal  extent. 

§  xxin.  Some  of  the  barbaric  nations  were,  of 
course,  not  susceptible  of  this  influence;  and 
when  they  burst  over  the  Alps,  appear,  like  the 
Huns,  as  scourges  only,  or  mix,  as  the  Ostro- 
goths, with  the  enervated  Italians,  and  give 
physical  strength  to  the  mass  with  which  they 
mingle,  without  materially  affecting  its  intellect- 
ual character.  But  others,  both  south  and  north 
of  the  empire,  had  felt  its  influence,  back  to  the 
beach  of  the  Indian  Ocean  on  the  one  hand,  and 
to  the  ice  creeks  of  the  North  Sea  on  the  other. 
On  the  north  and  west  the  influence  was  of  the 
Latins;  on  the  south  and  east,  of  the  Greeks. 
Two  nations,  pre-eminent  above  all  the  rest, 
represent  to  us  the  force  of  derived  mind  on 
either  side.  As  the  central  power  is  eclipsed, 


THE   QUARRY.  2  7 

the  orbs  of  reflected  light  gather  into  their  ful- 
ness; and  when  sensuality  and  idolatry  had  done 
their  work,  and  the  religion  of  the  empire  was 
laid  asleep  in  a  glittering  sepulchre,  the  living 
light  rose  upon  both  horizons,  and  the  fierce 
swords  of  the  Lombard  and  Arab  were  shaken 
over  its  golden  paralysis. 

§  xxiv.  The  work  of  the  Lombard  was  to 
give  hardihood  and  system  to  the  enervated; 
body  and  enfeebled  mind  of  Christendom;  that 
of  the  Arab  was  to  punish  idolatry,  and  to  pro- 
claim the  spirituality  of  worship.  The  Lombard 
covered  every  church  which  he  built  with  the 
sculptured  representations  of  bodily  exercises — 
hunting  and  war.*  The  Arab  banished  all  im- 
agination of  creature  form  from  his  temples,  and 
proclaimed  from  their  minarets,  "  There  is  no 
god  but  God."  Opposite  in  their  character  and 
mission,  alike  in  their  magnificence  of  energy, 
they  came  from  the  North,  and  from  the  South, 
the  glacier  torrent  and  the  lava  stream:  they 
met  and  contended  over  the  wreck  of  the  Ro- 
man empire;  and  the  very  centre  of  the  strug- 
gle, the  point  of  pause  of  both,  the  dead  water 
of  the  opposite  eddies,  charged  with  embayed 
fragments  of  the  Roman  wreck,  is  VENICE. 

The  Ducal  palace  of  Venice  contains  the 
three  elements  in  exactly  equal  proportions — 
*  Appendix  8,  "  The  Northern  Energy." 


28  THE   STONES  OF   VENICE. 

the  Roman,  Lombard,  and  Arab.  It  is  the  cen- 
tral building  of  the  world. 

§  xxv.  The  reader  will  now  being  to  under- 
stand something  of  the  importance  of  the  study 
of  the  edifices  of  a  city  which  includes,  within 
the  circuit  of  some  seven  or  eight  miles,  the  field 
of  contest  between  the  three  pre-eminent  archi- 
tectures of  the  world: — each  architecture  ex- 
pressing a  condition  of  religion ;  each  an  errone- 
ous condition,  yet  necessary  to  the  correction 
of  the  others,  and  corrected  by  them. 

§  xxvi.  It  will  be  part  of  my  endeavor,  in 
the  following  work,  to  mark  the  various  modes 
in  which  the  northern  and  southern  architect- 
ures were  developed  from  the  Roman:  here  I 
must  pause  only  to  name  the  distinguishing 
characteristics  of  the  great  families.  The  Chris- 
tian Roman  and  Byzantine  work  is  round-arched, 
with  single  and  well-proportioned  shafts;  capi- 
tals imitated  from  classical  Roman;  mouldings 
more  or  less  so;  and  large  surfaces  of  walls  en- 
tirely covered  with  imagery,  mosaic,  and  paint- 
ings, whether  of  scripture  history  or  of  sacred 
symbols. 

The  Arab  school  is  at  first  the  same  in  its 
principal  features,  the  Byzantine  workmen  being 
employed  by  the  caliphs;  but  the  Arab  rapidly 
introduces  characters  half  Persepolitan,  half 
Egyptian,  into  the  shafts  and  capitals:  in  his  in- 


THE   QUARRY.  2Q 

tense  love  of  excitement  he  points  the  arch  and 
writhes  it  into  extravagant  foliations;  he  ban- 
ishes the  animal  imagery,  and  invents  an  orna- 
mentation of  his  own  (called  Arabesque)  to  re- 
place it:  this  not  being  adapted  for  covering 
large  surfaces,  he  concentrates  it  on  features  of 
interest,  and  bars  his  surfaces  with  horizontal 
lines  of  color,  the  expression  of  the  level  of  the 
Desert.  He  retains  the  dome,  and  adds  the 
minaret.  All  is  done  with  exquisite  refinement. 

§  xxvii.  The  changes  effected  by  the  Lom- 
bard are  more  curious  still,  for  they  are  in  the 
anatomy  of  the  building,  more  than  its  decora- 
tion. The  Lombard  architecture  represents,  as 
I  said,  the  whole  of  that  of  the  northern  bar- 
baric nations.  And  this  I  believe  was,  at  first, 
an  imitation  in  wood  of  the  Christian  Roman 
churches  or  basilicas.  Without  staying  to  ex- 
amine the  whole  structure  of  a  basilica,  the 
reader  will  easily  understand  thus  much  of  it: 
that  it  had  a  nave  and  two  aisles,  the  nave 
much  higher  than  the  aisles;  that  the  nave  was 
separated  from  the  aisles  by  rows  of  shafts, 
which  supported,  above,  large  spaces  of  flat  or 
dead  wall,  rising  above  the  aisles,  and  forming 
the  upper  part  of  the  nave,  now  called  the  clere- 
story, which  had  a  gabled  wooden  roof. 

These  high  dead  walls  were,  in  Roman  work, 
built  of  stone;  but  in  the  wooden  work  of  the 


30  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

North,  they  must  necessarily  have  been  made  of 
horizontal  boards  or  timbers  attached  to  up- 
rights on  the  top  of  the  nave  pillars,  which  were 
themselves  also  of  wood.*  Now,  these  uprights 
were  necessarily  thicker  than  the  rest  of  the  tim- 
bers, and  formed  vertical  square  pilasters  above 
the  nave  piers.  As  Christianity  extended  and 
civilization  increased,  these  wooden  structures 
were  changed  into  stone;  but  they  were  literally 
petrified,  retaining  the  form  which  had  been 
made  necessary  by  their  being  of  wood.  The 
upright  pilaster  above  the  nave  pier  remains  in 
the  stone  edifice,  and  is  the  first  form  of  the 
great  distinctive  feature  of  Northern  architect- 
ure—  the  vaulting  shaft.  In  that  form  the 
Lombards  brought  it  into  Italy,  in  the  seventh 
century,  and  it  remains  to  this  day  in  St.  Am- 
brogio  of  Milan,  and  St.  Michele  of  Pavia. 

§  xxvin.  When  the  vaulting  shaft  was  intro- 
duced in  the  clerestory  walls,  additional  mem- 
bers were  added  for  its  support  to  the  nave  piers. 
Perhaps  two  or  three  pine  trunks,  used  for  a 
single  pillar,  gave  the  first  idea  of  the  grouped 
shaft.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  arrangement  of 
the  nave  pier  in  the  form  of  a  cross  accom- 
panies the  superimposition  of  the  vaulting  shaft; 
together  with  corresponding  grouping  of  minor 

*  Appendix  9,  "Wooden  Churches  of  the  North." 


THE    QUARRY.  31 

shafts  in  doorways  and  apertures  of  windows. 
Thus,  the  whole  body  of  the  Northern  architect- 
ure, represented  by  that  of  the  Lombards,  may 
be  described  as  rough  but  majestic  work,  round- 
arched,  with  grouped  shafts,  added  vaulting 
shafts,  and  endless  imagery  of  active  life  and 
fantastic  superstitions. 

§  xxix.  The  glacier  stream  of  the  Lombards, 
and  the  following  one  of  the  Normans,  left  their 
erratic  blocks,  wherever  they  had  flowed;  but 
without  influencing,  I  think,  the  Southern  na- 
tions beyond  the  sphere  of  their  own  presence. 
But  the  lava  stream  of  the  Arab,  even  after  it 
ceased  to  flow,  warmed  the  whole  of  the  North- 
ern air;  and  the  history  of  Gothic  architecture  is 
the  history  of  the  refinement  and  spiritualization 
of  Northern  work  under  its  influence.  The  no- 
blest buildings  of  the  world,  the  Pisan-Roman- 
esque,  Tuscan  (Giottesque)  Gothic,  and  Vero- 
nese Gothic,  are  those  of  the  Lombard  schools 
themselves,  under  its  close  and  direct  influence; 
the  various  Gothics  of  the  North  are  the  origi- 
nal forms  of  the  architecture  which  the  Lom- 
bards brought  into  Italy,  changing  under  the 
less  direct  influence  of  the  Arab. 

§  xxx.  Understanding  thus  much  of  the  for- 
mation of  the  great  European  styles,  we  shall 
have  no  difficulty  in  tracing  the  succession  of 
architectures  in  Venice  herself.  From  what  I 


32  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

said  of  the  central  character  of  Venetian  art, 
the  reader  is  not,  of  course,  to  conclude  that 
the  Roman,  Northern,  and  Arabian  elements 
met  together  and  contended  for  the  master)'  at 
the  same  period.  The  earliest  element  was  the 
pure  Christian  Roman;  but  few,  if  any,  remains 
of  this  art  exist  at  Venice;  for  the  present  city 
was  in  the  earliest  times  only  one  of  many  set- 
tlements formed  on  the  chain  of  marshy  islands 
which  extend  from  the  mouths  of  the  Isonzo  to 
those  of  the  Adige,  and  it  was  not  until  the  be- 
ginning of  the  ninth  century  that  it  became  the 
seat  of  government;  while  the  cathedral  of  Tor- 
cello,  though  Christian  Roman  in  general  form, 
was  rebuilt  in  the  eleventh  century,  and  shows 
evidence  of  Byzantine  workmanship  in  many  of 
its  details.  This  cathedral,  however,  with  the 
church  of  Santa  Fosca  at  Torcello,  San  Giacomo 
di  Rialto  at  Venice,  and  the  crypt  of  St.  Mark's, 
forms  a  distinct  group  of  buildings,  in  which  the 
Byzantine  influence  is  exceedingly  slight;  and 
which  is  probably  very  sufficiently  representative 
of  the  earliest  architecture  on  the  islands. 

§  xxxi.  The  Ducal  residence  was  removed  to 
Venice  in  809,  and  the  body  of  St.  Mark  was 
brought  from  Alexandria  twenty  years  later. 
The  first  church  of  St.  Mark's  was,  doubtless, 
built  in  imitation  of  that  destroyed  at  Alexan- 
dria, and  from  which  the  relics  of  the  saint  had 


THE   QUARRY.  33 

been  obtained.  During  the  ninth,  tenth,  and 
eleventh  centuries,  the  architecture  of  Venice 
seems  to  have  been  formed  on  the  same  model, 
and  is  almost  identical  with  that  of  Cairo  under 
the  caliphs,*  it  being  quite  immaterial  whether 
the  reader  chooses  to  call  both  Byzantine  or 
both  Arabic;  the  workmen  being  certainly 
Byzantine,  but  forced  to  the  invention  of  new 
forms  by  their  Arabian  masters,  and  bringing 
these  forms  into  use  in  whatever  other  parts  of 
the  world  they  were  employed. 

To  this  first  manner  of  Venetian  architecture, 
together  with  such  vestiges  as  remain  of  the 
Christian  Roman,  I  shall  devote  the  first  division 
of  the  following  inquiry.  The  examples  remain- 
ing of  it  consist  of  three  noble  churches  (those 
of  Torcello,  Murano,  and  the  greater  part  of 
St.  Mark's),  and  about  ten  or  twelve  fragments 
of  palaces. 

§  xxxii.  To  this  style  succeeds  a  transitional 
one,  of  a  character  much  more  distinctly  Ara- 
bian: the  shafts  become  more  slender,  and  the 
arches  consistently  pointed,  instead  of  round; 
certain  other  changes,  not  to  be  enumerated  in  a 
sentence,  taking  place  in  the  capitals  and  mould- 
ings. This  style  is  almost  exclusively  secular. 
It  was  natural  for  the  Venetians  to  imitate  the 

*  Appendix  10,  "  Church  of  Alexandria." 


34  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

beautiful  details  of  the  Arabian  dwelling-house, 
while  they  would  with  reluctance  adopt  those  of 
the  mosque  for  Christian  churches. 

I  have  not  succeeded  in  fixing  limiting  dates 
for  this  style.  It  appears  in  part  contemporary 
with  the  Byzantine  manner,  but  outlives  it.  Its 
position  is,  however,  fixed  by  the  central  date, 
1 1 80,  that  of  the  elevation  of  the  granite  shafts 
of  the  Piazetta,  whose  capitals  are  the  two  most 
important  pieces  of  detail  in  this  transitional 
style  in  Venice.  Examples  of  its  application  to 
domestic  buildings  exist  in  almost  every  street 
of  the  city,  and  will  form  the  subject  of  the 
second  division  of  the  following  essay. 

§  xxxin.  The  Venetians  were  always  ready 
to  receive  lessons  in  art  from  their  enemies  (else 
had  there  been  no  Arab  work  in  Venice).  But 
their  especial  dread  and  hatred  of  the  Lombards 
appears  to  have  long  prevented  them  from  re- 
ceiving the  influence  of  the  art  which  that  peo- 
ple had  introduced  on  the  mainland  of  Italy. 
Nevertheless,  during  the  practice  of  the  two 
styles  above  distinguished,  a  peculiar  and  very 
primitive  condition  of  pointed  Gothic  had  arisen 
in  ecclesiastical  architecture.  It  appears  to  be 
a  feeble  reflection  of  the  Lombard- Arab  forms, 
which  were  attaining  perfection  upon  the  conti- 
nent, and  would  probably,  if  left  to  itself,  have 
been  soon  merged  in  the  Venetian-Arab  school, 


THE   QUARRY,  35 

with  which  it  had  from  the  first  so  close  a  fellow- 
ship, that  it  will  be  found  difficult  to  distinguish 
the  Arabian  ogives  from  those  which  seem  to 
have  been  built  under  this  early  Gothic  influ- 
ence. The  churches  of  San  Giacopo  dell'  Orio, 
San  Giovanni  in  Bragora,  the  Carmine,  and  one 
or  two  more,  furnish  the  only  important  exam- 
ples of  it.  But,  in  the  thirteenth  century,  the 
Franciscans  and  Dominicans  introduced  from 
the  continent  their  morality  and  their  architect- 
ure, already  a  distinct  Gothic,  curiously  devel- 
oped from  Lombardic  and  Northern  (German?) 
forms;  and  the  influence  of  the  principles  exhib- 
ited in  the  vast  churches  of  St.  Paul  and  the 
Frari  began  rapidly  to  affect  the  Venetian-Arab 
school.  Still  the  two  systems  never  became 
united;  the  Venetian  policy  repressed  the  power 
of  the  church,  and  the  Venetian  artists  resisted 
its  example;  and  thenceforward  the  architecture 
of  the  city  becomes  divided  into  ecclesiastical 
and  civil:  the  one  an  ungraceful  yet  powerful 
form  of  the  Western  Gothic,  common  to  the 
whole  peninsula,  and  only  showing  Venetian 
sympathies  in  the  adoption  of  certain  character- 
istic mouldings;  the  other  a  rich,  luxuriant,  and 
entirely  original  Gothic,  formed  from  the  Vene- 
tian-Arab by  the  influence  of  the  Dominican  and 
Franciscan  architecture,  and  especially  by  the 
engrafting  upon  the  Arab  forms  of  the  most 


36  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

novel  feature  of  the  Franciscan  work,  its  tra- 
ceries. These  various  forms  of  Gothic,  the  dis- 
tinctive architecture  of  Venice,  chiefly  repre- 
sented by  the  churches  of  St.  John  and  Paul, 
the  Frari,  and  San  Stefano,  on  the  ecclesiasti- 
cal side,  and  by  the  Ducal  palace,  and  the  other 
principal  Gothic  palaces,  on  the  secular  side, 
will  be  the  subject  of  the  third  division  of  the 
essay. 

§  xxxiv.  Now  observe.  The  transitional  (or 
especially  Arabic)  style  of  the  Venetian  work  is 
centralized  by  the  date  1180,  and  is  transformed 
gradually  into  the  Gothic,  which  extends  in  its 
purity  from  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  to  the 
beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century;  that  is  to 
say,  over  the  precise  period  which  I  have  de- 
scribed as  the  central  epoch  of  the  life  of  Ven- 
ice. I  dated  her  decline  from  the  year  1418; 
Foscari  became  doge  five  years  later,  and  in  his 
reign  the  first  marked  signs  appear  in  architect- 
ure of  that  mighty  change  which  Philippe  de 
Commynes  notices  as  above,  the  change  to  which 
London  owes  St.  Paul's,  Rome  St.  Peter's,  Ven- 
ice and  Vicenza  the  edifices  commonly  supposed 
to  be  their  noblest,  and  Europe  in  general  the 
degradation  of  every  art  she  has  since  practised. 

§  xxxv.  This  change  appears  first  in  a  loss  of 
truth  and  vitality  in  existing  architecture  all  over 
the  world.  (Compare  "  Seven  Lamps,"  chap,  ii.) 


THE   QUARRY.  37 

All  the  Gothics  in  existence,  southern  or  north- 
ern, were  corrupted  at  once:  the  German  and 
French  lost  themselves  in  every  species  of  ex- 
travagance; the  English  Gothic  was  confined,  in 
its  insanity,  by  a  strait -waistcoat  of  perpendicu- 
lar lines;  the  Italian  effloresced  on  the  main 
land  into  the  meaningless  ornamentation  of  the 
Certosa  of  Pavia  and  the  Cathedral  of  Como, 
(a  style  sometimes  ignorantly  called  Italian 
Gothic),  and  at  Venice  into  the  insipid  confu- 
sion of  the  Porta  della  Carta  and  wild  crockets 
of  St.  Mark's.  This  corruption  of  all  architect- 
ure, especially  ecclesiastical,  corresponded  with, 
and  marked  the  state  of  religion  over  all  Eu- 
rope,— the  peculiar  degradation  of  the  Romanist 
superstition,  and  of  public  morality  in  conse- 
quence, which  brought  about  the  Reforma- 
tion. 

§  xxxvi.  Against  the  corrupted  papacy  arose 
two  great  divisions  of  adversaries,  Protestants  in 
Germany  and  England,  Rationalists  in  France 
and  Italy;  the  one  requiring  the  purification  of 
religion,  the  other  its  destruction.  The  Protes- 
tant kept  the  religion,  but  cast  aside  the  here- 
sies of  Rome,  and  with  them  her  arts,  by  which 
last  rejection  he  injured  his  own  character, 
cramped  his  intellect  in  refusing  to  it  one  of  its 
noblest  exercises,  and  materially  diminished  his 
influence.  It  may  be  a  serious  question  how 


38  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

far  the  Pausing  of  the  Reformation  has  been  a 
consequence  of  this  error. 

The  Rationalist  kept  the  arts  and  cast  aside 
the  religion.  This  rationalistic  art  is  the  art 
commonly  called  Renaissance,  marked  by  a  re- 
turn to  pagan  systems,  not  to  adopt  them  and 
hallow  them  for  Christianity,  but  to  rank  itself 
under  them  as  an  imitator  and  pupil.  In  Paint- 
ing it  is  headed  by  Giulio  Romano  and  Nicolo 
Poussin;  in  Architecture  by  Sansovino  and  Pal- 
ladio. 

§  xxxvii.  Instant  degradation  followed  in 
every  direction, — a  flood  of  folly  and  hypocrisy. 
Mythologies  ill  understood  at  first,  then  per- 
verted into  feeble  sensualities,  take  the  place  of 
the  representations  of  Christian  subjects,  which 
had  become  blasphemous  under  the  treatment 
of  men  like  the  Caracci.  Gods  without  power, 
satyrs  without  rusticity,  nymphs  without  inno- 
cence, men  without  humanity,  gather  into  idiot 
groups  upon  the  polluted  canvas,  and  scenic 
affectations  encumber  the  streets  with  prepos- 
terous marble.  Lower  and  lower  declines  the 
level  of  abused  intellect;  the  base  school  of 
landscape*  gradually  usurps  the  place  of  the  his- 
torical painting,  which  had  sunk  into  prurient 
pedantry, — the  Alsatian  sublimities  of  Salva- 

*  Appendix  ii,  "Renaissance  Landscape." 


THE   QUARRY.  39 

tor,  the  confectionery  idealities  of  Claude,  the 
dull  manufacture  of  Gaspar  and  Canaletto,  south 
of  the  Alps,  and  on  the  north  the  patient  devo- 
tion of  besotted  lives  to  delineation  of  bricks 
and  fogs,  fat  cattle  and  ditchwater.  And  thus 
Christianity  and  morality,  courage,  and  intellect, 
and  art  all  crumbling  together  into  one  wreck, 
we  are  hurried  on  to  the  fall  of  Italy,  the  revo- 
lution in  France,  and  the  condition  of  art  in 
England  (saved  by  her  Protestantism  from  se- 
verer penalty)  in  the  time  of  George  II. 

§  xxxviii.  I  have  not  written  in  vain  if  I  have 
heretofore  done  anything  towards  diminishing 
the  reputation  of  the  Renaissance  landscape 
painting.  But.  the  harm  which  has  been  done 
by  Claude  and  the  Poussins  is  as  nothing  when 
compared  to  the  mischief  effected  by  Palladio, 
Scamozzi,  and  Sansovino.  Claude  and  the 
Poussins  were  weak  men,  and  have  had  no  seri- 
ous influence  on  the  general  mind.  There  is 
little  harm  in  their  works  being  purchased  at 
high  prices:  their  real  influence  is  very  slight, 
and  they  may  be  left  without  grave  indignation 
to  their  poor  mission  of  furnishing  drawing- 
rooms  and  assisting  stranded  conversation.  Not 
so  the  Renaissance  architecture.  Raised  at  once 
into  all  the  magnificence  of  which  it  was  capable 
by  Michael  Angelo,  then  taken  up  by  men  of 
real  intellect  and  imagination,  such  as  Scamozzi, 


40  THE   STONES  OF   VENICE. 

Sansovino,  Inigo  Jones,  and  Wren,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  estimate  the  extent  of  its  influence  on  the 
European  mind;  and  that  the  more,  because  few 
persons  are  concerned  with  painting,  and,  of 
those  few,  the  larger  number  regard  it  with 
slight  attention;  but  all  men  are  concerned  with 
architecture,  and  have  at  some  time  of  their 
lives  serious  business  with  it.  It  does  not  much 
matter  that  an  individual  loses  two  or  three  hun- 
dred pounds  in  buying  a  bad  picture,  but  it  is  to 
be  regretted  that  a  nation  should  lose  two  or  three 
hundred  thousand  in  raising  a  ridiculous  building. 
Nor  is  it  merely  wasted  wealth  or  distempered 
conception  which  we  have  to  regret  in  this 
Renaissance  architecture:  but  we  shall  find  in  it 
partly  the  root,  partly  the  expression,  of  certain 
dominant  evils  of  modern  times — over-sophisti- 
cation and  ignorant  classicalism ;  the  one  de- 
stroying the  healthfulness  of  general  society,  the 
other  rendering  our  schools  and  universities  use- 
less to  a  large  number  of  the  men  who  pass 
through  them. 

Now  Venice,  as  she  was  once  the  most  relig- 
ious, was  in  her  fall  the  most  corrupt,  of  Euro- 
pean states;  and  as  she  was  in  her  strength  the 
centre  of  the  pure  currents  of  Christian  archi- 
tecture, so  she  is  in  her  decline  the  source  of  the 
Renaissance.  It  was  the  originality  and  splendor 
of  the  palaces  of  Vicenza  and  Venice  which  gave 


THE   QUARRY.  41 

this  school  its  eminence  in  the  eyes  of  Europe; 
and  the  dying  city,  magnificent  in  her  dissipation, 
and  graceful  in  her  follies,  obtained  wider  wor- 
ship in  her  decrepitude  than  in  her  youth,  and 
sank  from  the  midst  of  her  admirers  into  the 
grave. 

§  xxxix.  It  is  in  Venice,  therefore,  and  in 
Venice  only  that  effectual  blows  can  be  struck 
at  this  pestilent  art  of  the  Renaissance.  Destroy 
its  claims  to  admiration  there,  and  it  can  assert 
them  nowhere  else.  This,  therefore,  will  be  the 
final  purpose  of  the  following  essay.  I  shall  not 
devote  a  fourth  section  to  Palladio,  nor  weary 
the  reader  with  successive  chapters  of  vitupera- 
tion; but  I  shall,  in  my  account  of  the  earlier 
architecture,  compare  the  forms  of  all  its  leading 
features  with  those  into  which  they  were  cor- 
rupted by  the  Classicalists;  and  pause,  in  the 
close,  on  the  edge  of  the  precipice  of  decline, 
so  soon  as  I  have  made  its  depths  discernible. 
In  doing  this  I  shall  depend  upon  two  distinct 
kinds  of  evidence: — the  first,  the  testimony  borne 
by  particular  incidents  and  facts  to  a  want  of 
thought  or  of  feeling  in  the  builders;  from  which 
we  may  conclude  that  their  architecture  must 
be  bad: — the  second,  the  sense,  which  I  doubt 
not  I  shall  be  able  to  excite  in  the  reader,  of  a 
systematic  ugliness  in  the  architecture  itself.  Of 
the  first  kind  of  testimony  I  shall  here  give  two 


42  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

instances,  which  may  be  immediately  useful  in 
fixing  in  the  reader's  mind  the  epoch  above  indi- 
cated for  the  commencement  of  decline. 

§  XL.  I  must  again  refer  to  the  importance 
which  I  have  above  attached  to  the  death  of 
Carlo  Zeno  and  the  doge  Tomaso  Mocenigo. 
The  tomb  of  that  doge  is,  as  I  said,  wrought  by 
a  Florentine;  but  it  is  of  the  same  general  type 
and  feeling  as  all  the  Venetian  tombs  of  the 
period,  and  it  is  one  of  the  last  which  retains  it. 
The  classical  element  enters  largely  into  its  de- 
tails, but  the  feeling  of  the  whole  is  as  yet  un- 
affected. Like  all  the  lovely  tombs  of  Venice 
and  Verona,  it  is  a  sarcophagus  with  a  recumbent 
figure  above,  and  this  figure  is  a  faithful  but  ten- 
der portrait,  wrought  as  far  as  it  can  be  without 
painfulness,  of  the  doge  as  he  lay  in  death.  He 
wears  his  ducal  robe  and  bonnet — his  head  is 
laid  slightly  aside  upon  his  pillow — his  hands  are 
simply  crossed  as  they  fall.  The  face  is  ema- 
ciated, the  features  large,  but  so  pure  and  lordly 
in  their  natural  chiselling,  that  they  must  have 
looked  like  marble  even  in  their  animation. 
They  are  deeply  worn  away  by  thought  and 
death;  the  veins  on  the  temples  branched  and 
starting;  the  skin  gathered  in  sharp  folds;  the 
brow  high-arched  and  shaggy;  the  eye-ball  mag- 
nificently large;  the  curve  of  the  lips  just  veiled 
by  the  light  mustache  at  the  side;  the  beard 


THE    QUARRY.  43 

short,  double,  and  sharp-pointed:  all  noble  and 
quiet;  the  white  sepulchral  dust  marking  like 
light  the  stern  angles  of  the  cheek  and  brow. 

This  tomb  was  sculptured  in  1424,  and  is  thus 
described  by  one  of  the  most  intelligent  of  the 
recent  writers  who  represent  the  popular  feeling 
respecting  Venetian  art. 

"  Of  the  Italian  school  is  also  the  rich  but  ugly  (ricco 
ma  non  bel)  sarcophagus  in  which  repose  the  ashes  of 
Tomaso  Mocenigo.  It  may  be  called  one  of  the  last  links 
which  connect  the  declining  art  of  the  Middle  Ages  with 
that  of  the  Renaissance,  which  was  in  its  rise.  We  will 
not  stay  to  particularize  the  defects  of  each  of  the  seven 
figures  of  the  front  and  sides,  which  represent  the  cardinal 
and  theological  virtues;  nor  will  we  make  any  remarks 
upon  those  which  stand  in  the  niches  above  the  pavilion, 
because  we  consider  them  unworthy  both  of  the  age  and 
reputation  of  the  Florentine  school,  which  was  then  with 
reason  considered  the  most  notable  in  Italy."* 

It  is  well,  indeed,  not  to  pause  over  these  de- 
fects; but  it  might  have  been  better  to  have 
paused  a  moment  beside  that  noble  image  of  a 
king's  mortality. 

§  XLI.  In  the  choir  of  the  same  church,  St. 
Giov.  and  Paolo,  is  another  tomb,  that  of  the 
Doge  Andrea  Vendramin.  This  doge  died  in 
1478,  after  a  short  reign  of  two  years,  the  most 
disastrous  in  the  annals  of  Venice.  He  died  of 
a  pestilence  which  followed  the  ravage  of  the 

*  Selvatico,  "  Architettura  di  Venezia,"  p.  147. 


44  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE, 

Turks,  carried  to  the  shores  of  the  lagoons.  He 
died,  leaving  Venice  disgraced  by  sea  and  land, 
with  the  smoke  of  hostile  devastation  rising  in 
the  blue  distances  of  Friuli;  and  there  was 
raised  to  him  the  most  costly  tomb  ever  be- 
stowed on  her  monarchs. 

§  XLII.  If  the  writer  above  quoted  was  cold 
beside  the  statue  of  one  of  the  fathers  of  his 
country,  he  atones  for  it  by  his  eloquence  be- 
side the  tomb  of  the  Vendramin.  I  must  not 
spoil  the  force  of  Italian  superlative  by  transla- 
tion. 

"  Quando  si  guarda  a  quella  corretta  eleganza  di  profili 
e  di  proporzioni,  a  quella  squisitezza  d'ornamenti,  a  quel 
certo  sapore  antico  che  senza  ombra  d'  imitazione  tras- 
pareda  tutta  1'  opera" — &c.  "  Sopra  ornatissimo  zoccolo 
fornito  di  squisiti  intagli  s*  alza  uno  stylobate " — &c. 
' '  Sotto  le  colonne,  il  predetto  stilobate  si  muta  leggia- 
dramente  in  piedistallo,  poi  con  bella  novita  di  pensiero 
e  di  effetto  va  coronato  da  un  fregio  il  piu  gentile  che 
veder  si  possa" — &c.  "Non  puossi  lasciar  senza  un 
cenno  1'  area  dove  sta  chiuso  il  doge ;  capo  lavoro  di  pen- 
siero e  di  esecuzione,"  etc. 

There  are  two  pages  and  a  half  of  closely 
printed  praise,  of  which  the  above  specimens 
may  suffice;  but  there  is  not  a  word  of  the  statue 
of  the  dead  from  beginning  to  end.  I  am  my- 
self in  the  habit  of  considering  this  rather  an 
important  part  of  a  tomb,  and  I  was  especially 


THE   QUARRY.  45 

interested  in  it  here,  because  Selvatico  only 
echoes  the  praise  of  thousands.  It  is  unani- 
mously declared  the  chef  d'oeuvre  of  Renaissance 
sepulchral  work,  and  pronounced  by  Cicognara 
(also  quoted  by  Selvatico). 

"  II  vertice  a  cui  1'  arti  Veneziane  si  spinsero  col  minis- 
tero  del  scalpello," — "The  very  culminating  point  to 
which  the  Venetian  arts  attained  by  ministry  of  the  chisel." 

To  this  culminating  point,  therefore,  covered 
with  dust  and  cobwebs,  I  attained,  as  I  did  to 
every  tomb  of  importance  in  Venice,  by  the  min- 
istry of  such  ancient  ladders  as  were  to  be  found 
in  the  sacristan's  keeping.  I  was  struck  at  first 
by  the  excessive  awkwardness  and  want  of  feel- 
ing in  the  fall  of  the  hand  towards  the  specta- 
tor, for  it  is  thrown  off  the  middle  of  the  body 
in  order  to  show  its  fine  cutting.  Now  the  Moce- 
nigo  hand,  severe  and  even  stiff  in  its  articu- 
lations, has  its  veins  finely  drawn,  its  sculptor 
having  justly  felt  that  the  delicacy  of  the  vein- 
ing  expresses  alike  dignity  and  age  and  birth. 
The  Vendramin  hand  is  far  more  laboriously 
cut,  but  its  blunt  and  clumsy  contour  at  once 
makes  us  feel  that  all  the  care  has  been  thrown 
away,  and  well  it  may  be,  for  it  has  been  entirely 
bestowed  in  cutting  gouty  wrinkles  about  the 
joints.  Such  as  the  hand  is,  I  looked  for  its 
fellow.  At  first  I  thought  it  had  been  broken 


46  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

off,  but,  on  clearing  away  the  dust,  I  saw  the 
wretched  effigy  had  only  one  hand,  and  was  a 
mere  block  on  the  inner  side.  The  face,  heavy 
and  disagreeable  in  its  features,  is  made  mon- 
strous by  its  semi-sculpture.  One  side  of  the 
forehead  is  wrinkled  elaborately,  the  other  left 
smooth;  one  side  only  of  the  doge's  cap  is 
chased;  one  cheek  only  is  finished,  and  the 
other  blocked  out  and  distorted  besides;  finally^ 
the  ermine  robe,  which  is  elaborately  imitated 
to  its  utmost  lock  of  hair  and  of  ground  hair  on 
the  one  side,  is  blocked  out  only  on  the  other: 
it  having  been  supposed  throughout  the  work 
that  the  effigy  was  only  to  be  seen  from  below, 
and  from  one  side. 

§  XLIII.  It  was  indeed  to  be  seen  by  nearly 
every  one;  and  I  do  not  blame — I  should,  on  the 
contrary,  have  praised — the  sculptor  for  regu- 
lating his  treatment  of  it  by  its  position;  if  that 
treatment  had  not  involved,  first,  dishonesty,  in 
giving  only  half  a  face,  a  monstrous  mask,  when 
we  demanded  true  portraiture  of  the  dead;  and, 
secondly,  such  utter  coldness  of  feeling,  as  could 
only  consist  with  an  extreme  of  intellectual  and 
moral  degradation:  Who,  with  a  heart  in  his 
breast,  could  have  stayed  his  hand  as  he  drew 
the  dim  lines  of  the  old  man's  countenance — 
unmajestic  once,  indeed,  but  at  least  sanctified 
by  the  solemnities  of  death — could  have  stayed 


THE  QUARRY.  47 

his  hand,  as  he  reached  the  bend  of  the  grey 
forehead,  and  measured  out  the  last  veins  of  it 
at  so  much  the  zecchin. 

I  do  not  think  the  reader,  if  he  has  feeling, 
will  expect  that  much  talent  should  be  shown  in 
the  rest  of  his  work,  by  the  sculptor  of  this  base 
and  senseless  lie.  The  whole  monument  is  one 
wearisome  aggregation  of  that  species  of  orna- 
mental flourish,  which,  when  it  is  done  with  a 
pen,  is  called  penmanship,  and  when  done  with 
a  chisel,  should  be  called  chiselmanship;  the 
subject  of  it  being  chiefly  fat-limbed  boys  sprawl- 
ing on  dolphins,  dolphins  incapable  of  swim- 
ming, and  dragged  along  the  sea  by  expanded 
pocket-handkerchiefs. 

But  now,  reader,  comes  the  very  gist  and 
point  of  the  whole  matter.  This  lying  monu- 
ment to  a  dishonored  doge,  this  culminating 
pride  of  the  Renaissance  art  of  Venice,  is  at 
least  veracious,  if  in  nothing  else,  in  its  testi- 
mony to  the  character  of  its  sculptor.  He  was 
banished  from  Venice  for  forgery  in  1487.* 

§  XLIV.  I  have  more  to  say  about  this  con- 
vict's work  hereafter;  but  I  pass  at  present,  to 
the  second,  slighter,  but  yet  more  interesting 
piece  of  evidence,  which  I  promised. 

The  ducal  palace  has  two  principal  facades; 

*  Selvatico,  p.  221. 


48  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE, 

one  towards  the  sea,  the  other  towards  the  Piaz- 
zetta.  The  seaward  side,  and,  as  far  as  the 
seventh  main  arch  inclusive,  the  Piazzetta  side, 
is  work  of  the  early  part  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury, some  of  it  perhaps  even  earlier;  while  the 
rest  of  the  Piazzetta  side  is  of  the  fifteenth. 
The  difference  in  age  has  been  gravely  disputed 
by  the  Venetian  antiquaries,  who  have  examined 
many  documents  on  the  subject,  and  quoted 
some  which  they  never  examined.  I  have  my- 
self collated  most  of  the  written  documents,  and 
one  document  more,  to  which  the  Venetian  anti- 
quaries never  thought  of  referring, — the  masonry 
of  the  palace  itself. 

§  XLV.  That  masonry  changes  at  the  centre 
of  the  eighth  arch  from  the  sea  angle  on  the 
Piazzetta  side.  It  has  been  of  comparatively 
small  stones  up  to  that  point;  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury work  instantly  begins  with  larger  stones, 
"brought  from  Istria,  a  hundred  miles  away."* 
The  ninth  shaft  from  the  sea  in  the  lower  arcade, 
and  the  seventeenth,  which  is  above  it,  in  the 
upper  arcade,  commence  the  series  of  fifteenth 
century  shafts.  These  two  are  somewhat  thicker 
than  the  others,  and  carry  the  party-wall  of  the 
Sala  del  Scrutinio.  Now  observe,  reader.  The 

*  The  older  work  is  of  Istrian  stone  also,  but  of  dif- 
ferent quality. 


THE   QUARRY.  49 

face  of  the  palace,  from  this  point  to  the  Porta 
della  Carta,  was  built  at  the  instance  of  that 
noble  Doge  Mocenigo  beside  whose  tomb  you 
have  been  standing;  at  his  instance,  and  in  the 
beginning  of  the  reign  of  his  successor,  Foscari; 
that  is  to  say,  circa  1424.  This  is  not  disputed; 
it  is  only  disputed  that  the  sea  fa9ade  is  ear- 
lier; of  which,  however,  the  proofs  are  as  simple 
as  they  are  incontrovertible:  for  not  only  the 
masonry,  but  the  sculpture,  changes  at  the  ninth 
lower  shaft,  and  that  in  the  capitals  of  the 
shafts  both  of  the  upper  and  lower  arcade:  the 
costumes  of  the  figures  introduced  in  the  sea 
fa9ade  being  purely  Giottesque,  correspondent 
with  Giotto's  work  in  the  Arena  Chapel  at 
Padua,  while  the  costume  on  the  other  capitals 
is  Renaissance-Classic:  and  the  lions'  heads 
between  the  arches  change  at  the  same  point. 
And  there  are  a  multitude  of  other  evidences  in 
the  statues  of  the  angels,  with  which  I  shall 
not  at  present  trouble  the  reader. 

§  XLVI.  Now,  the  architect  who  built  under 
Foscari,  in  1424  (remember  my  date  for  the 
decline  of  Venice,  1418),  was  obliged  to  follow 
the  principal  forms  of  the  older  palace.  But 
he  had  not  the  wit  to  invent  new  capitals  in  the 
same  style;  he  therefore  clumsily  copied  the  old 
ones.  The  palace  has  seventeen  main  arches 
on  the  sea  fagade,  eighteen  on  the  Piazzetta 


50  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

side,  which  in  all  are  of  course  carried  by  thirty- 
six  pillars;  and  these  pillars  I  shall  always  num- 
ber from  right  to  left,  from  the  angle  of  the 
palace  at  the  Ponte  della  Paglia  to  that  next 
the  Porta  della  Carta.  I  number  them  in  this 
succession,  because  I  thus  have  the  earliest 
shafts  first  numbered.  So  counted,  the  ist,  the 
1 8th,  and  the  36th,  are  the  great  supports  of  the 
angles  of  the  palace;  and  the  first  of  the  fif- 
teenth century  series,  being,  as  above  stated, 
the  pth  from  the  sea  on  the  Piazzetta  side,  is 
the  26th  of  the  entire  series,  and  will  always  in 
future  be  so  numbered,  so  that  all  numbers 
above  twenty-six  indicate  fifteenth  century  work, 
and  all  below  it,  fourteenth  century,  with  some 
exceptional  cases  of  restoration. 

Then  the  copied  capitals  are:  the  28th,  copied 
from  the  ;th;  the  2pth,  from  the  gih;  the  3oth, 
from  the  xoth;  the  3ist,  from  the  8th;  the  33d, 
from  the  i2th;  and  the  34th,  from  the  nth; 
the  others  being  dull  inventions  of  the  i5th 
century,  except  the  36th,  which  is  very  nobly 
designed. 

§  XLVII.  The  capitals  thus  selected  from  the 
earlier  portion  of  the  palace  for  imitation,  to- 
gether with  the  rest,  will  be  accurately  de- 
scribed hereafter;  the  point  I  have  here  to  no- 
tice is  in  the  copy  of  the  ninth  capital,  which 
was  decorated  (being,  like  the  rest,  octagonal) 


THE   QUARRY.  5 1 

with  figures  of  the  eight  Virtues: — Faith,  Hope. 
Charity,  Justice,  Temperance,  Prudence,  Humil- 
ity (the  Venetian  antiquaries  call  it  Humanity !)> 
and  Fortitude.  The  Virtues  of  the  fourteenth 
century  are  somewhat  hard-featured;  with  vivid 
and  living  expression,  and  plain  every-day 
clothes  of  the  time.  Charity  has  her  lap  full 
of  apples  (perhaps  loaves),  and  is  giving  one  to 
a  little  child,  who  stretches  his  arm  for  it  across 
a  gap  in  the  leafage  of  the  capital.  Fortitude 
tears  open  a  lion's  jaws;  Faith  lays  her  hand  on 
her  breast,  as  she  beholds  the  Cross;  and  Hope 
is  praying,  while  above  her  a  hand  is  seen  emerg- 
ing from  sunbeams — the  hand  of  God  (accord- 
ing to  that  of  Revelations,  "The  Lord  God 
giveth  them  light");  and  the  inscription  above 
is,  "  Spes  optima  in  Deo." 

§  XLVIII.  This  design,  then,  is,  rudely  and  with 
imperfect  chiselling,  imitated  by  the  fifteenth 
century  workmen:  the  Virtues  have  lost  their 
hard  features  and  living  expression;  they  have 
now  all  got  Roman  noses,  and  have  had  their 
hair  curled.  Their  actions  and  emblems  are, 
however,  preserved  until  we  come  to  Hope:  she 
is  still  praying,  but  she  is  praying  to  the  sun 
only:  The  hand  of  God  is  gone. 

Is  not  this  a  curious  and  striking  type  of  the 
spirit  which  had  then  become  dominant  in  the 
world,  forgetting  to  see  God's  hand  in  the  light 


52  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

He  gave;  so  that  in  the  issue,  when  the  light 
opened  into  the  Reformation  on  the  one  side, 
and  into  full  knowledge  of  ancient  literature  on 
the  other,  the  one  was  arrested  and  the  other 
perverted  ? 

§  XLIX.  Such  is  the  nature  of  the  accidental 
evidence  on  which  I  shall  depend  for  the  proof 
of  the  inferiority  of  character  in  the  Renaissance 
workmen.  But  the  proof  of  the  inferiority  of 
the  work  itself  is  not  so  easy,  for  in  this  I 
have  to  appeal  to  judgments  which  the  Renais- 
sance work  has  itself  distorted.  I  felt  this  diffi- 
culty very  forcibly  as  I  read  a  slight  review  of 
my  former  work,  "  The  Seven  Lamps,"  in  "  The 
Architect:"  the  writer  noticed  my  constant  praise 
of  St.  Mark's:  "  Mr.  Ruskin  thinks  it  a  very 
beautiful  building!  We,"  said  the  Architect, 
"  think  it  a  very  ugly  building."  I  was  not 
surprised  at  the  difference  of  opinion,  but  at  the 
thing  being  considered  so  completely  a  subject 
of  opinion.  My  opponents  in  matters  of  paint- 
ing always  assume  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
a  law  of  right,  and  that  I  do  not  understand  it: 
but  my  architectural  adversaries  appeal  to  no' 
law,  they  simply  set  their  opinion  against  mine; 
and  indeed  there  is  no  law  at  present  to  which 
•either  they  or  I  can  appeal.  No  man  can  speak 
with  rational  decision  of  the  merits  or  demerits  of 
buildings:  he  may  with  obstinacy;  he  may  with 


THE    QUARRY.  53 

resolved  adherence  to  previous  prejudices;  but 
never  as  if  the  matter  could  be  otherwise  decided 
than  by  a  majority  of  votes,  or  pertinacity  of 
partisanship.  I  had  always,  however,  a  clear 
conviction  that  there  was  a  law  in  this  matter: 
that  good  architecture  might  be  indisputably 
discerned  and  divided  from  the  bad;  that  the 
opposition  in  their  very  nature  and  essence  was 
clearly  visible;  and  that  we  were  all  of  us  just 
as  unwise  in  disputing  about  the  matter  without 
reference  to  principle,  as  we  should  be  for  de- 
bating about  the  genuineness  of  a  coin,  without 
ringing  it.  I  felt  also  assured  that  this  law  must 
be  universal  if  it  were  conclusive;  that  it  must 
enable  us  to  reject  all  foolish  and  base  work, 
and  to  accept  all  noble  and  wise  work,  without 
reference  to  style  or  national  feeling;  that  it 
must  sanction  the  design  of  all  truly  great  nations 
and  times,  Gothic  or  Greek  or  Arab;  that  it 
must  cast  off  and  reprobate  the  design  of  all 
foolish  nations  and  times,  Chinese  or  Mexican, 
or  modern  European:  and  that  it  must  be  easily 
applicable  to  all  possible  architectural  inven- 
tions of  human  mind.  I  set  myself,  therefore, 
to  establish  such  a  law,  in  full  belief  that  men 
are  intended,  without  excessive  difficulty,  and 
by  use  of  their  general  common  sense,  to  know 
good  things  from  bad;  and  that  it  is  only  be- 
cause they  will  not  be  at  the  pains  required  for 


54  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

the  discernment,  that  the  world  is  so  widely 
encumbered  with  forgeries  and  basenesses.  I 
found  the  work  simpler  than  I  had  hoped; 
the  reasonable  things  ranged  themselves  in  the 
order  I  required,  and  the  foolish  things  fell 
aside,  and  took  themselves  away  so  soon  as 
they  were  looked  in  the  face.  I  had  then,  with 
respect  to  Venetian  architecture,  the  choice, 
either  to  establish  each  division  of  law  in  a 
separate  form,  as  I  came  to  the  features  with 
which  it  was  concerned,  or  else  to  ask  the  read- 
er's patience,  while  I  followed  out  the  general 
inquiry  first,  and  determined  with  him  a  code 
of  right  and  wrong,  to  which  we  might  together 
make  retrospective  appeal.  I  thought  this  the 
best,  though  perhaps  the  dullest  way;  and  in 
these  first  following  pages  I  have  therefore  en- 
deavored to  arrange  those  foundations  of  criti- 
cism, on  which  I  shall  rest  in  my  account  of 
Venetian  architecture,  in  a  form  clear  and  sim- 
ple enough  to  be  intelligible  even  to  those  who 
never  thought  of  architecture  before.  To  those 
who  have,  much  of  what  is  stated  in  them  will 
be  well  known  or  self-evident;  but  they  must 
not  be  indignant  at  a  simplicity  on  which  the 
whole  argument  depends  for  its  usefulness. 
From  that  which  appears  a  mere  truism  when 
first  stated,  they  will  find  very  singular  conse- 
quences sometimes  following,  —  consequences 


THE  QUARRY,  55 

altogether  unexpected,  and  of  considerable  im- 
portance; I  will  not  pause  here  to  dwell  on 
their  importance,  nor  on  that  of  the  thing  itself 
to  be  done;  for  I  believe  most  readers  will  at 
once  admit  the  value  of  a  criterion  of  right  and 
wrong  in  so  practical  and  costly  an  art  as  archi- 
tecture, and  will  be  apt  rather  to  doubt  the 
possibility  of  its  attainment  than  dispute  its 
usefulness  if  attained.  I  invite  them,  there- 
fore, to  a  fair  trial,  being  certain  that  even  if 
I  should  fail  in  my  main  purpose,  and  be  un- 
able to  induce  in  my  reader  the  confidence  of 
judgment  I  desire,  I  shall  at  least  receive  his 
thanks  for  the  suggestion  of  consistent  reasons, 
which  -may  determine  hesitating  choice,  or  jus- 
tify involuntary  preference.  And  if  I  should 
succeed,  as  I  hope,  in  making  the  Stones  of  Ven- 
ice touchstones,  and  detecting,  by  the  mould- 
ering of  her  marble,  poison  more  subtle  than 
ever  was  betrayed  by  the  rending  of  her  crystal; 
and  if  thus  I  am  enabled  to  show  the  baseness 
of  the  schools  of  architecture  and  nearly  every 
other  art,  which  have  for  three  centuries  been 
predominant  in  Europe,  I  believe  the  result  of 
the  inquiry  may  be  serviceable  for  proof  of  a 
more  vital  truth  than  any  at  which  I  have 
hitherto  hinted.  For  observe:  I  said  the  Prot- 
estant had  despised  the  arts,  and  the  Rationalist 
corrupted  them.  But  what  has  the  Romanist 


$6  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

done  meanwhile?  He  boasts  that  it  was  the 
papacy  which  raised  the  arts;  why  could  it  not 
support  them  when  it  was  left  to  its  own 
strength?  How  came  it  to  yield  to  Classical- 
ism  which  was  based  on  infidelity,  and  to  oppose 
no  barrier  to  innovations,  which  have  reduced 
the  once  faithfully  conceived  imagery  of  its  wor- 
ship to  stage  decoration?  *  Shall  we  not  rather 
find  that  Romanism,  instead  of  being  a  promoter 
of  the  arts,  has  never  shown  itself  capable  of  a 
single  great  conception  since  the  separation  of 
Protestantism  from  its  side?1  So  long  as,  cor- 
rupt though  it  might  be,  no  clear  witness  had 
been  borne  against  it,  so  that  it  still  included  in 
its  ranks  a  vast  number  of  faithful  Christians, 
so  long  its  arts  were  noble.  But  the  witness  was 
borne — the  error  made  apparent;  and  Rome, 
refusing  to  hear  the  testimony  or  forsake  the 

*  Appendix  XII.,  "  Romanist  Modern  Art." 
1  [Perfectly  true:  but  the  whole  vital  value  of  the  truth 
was  lost  by  my  sectarian  ignorance.  Protestantism  (so 
far  as  it  was  still  Christianity,  and  did  not  consist  merely 
in  maintaining  one's  own  opinion  for  gospel)  could  not 
separate  itself  from  the  Catholic  Church.  The  so-called 
Catholics  became  themselves  sectarians  and  heretics  in 
casting  them  out;  and  Europe  was  turned  into  a  mere 
cockpit,  of  the  theft  and  fury  of  unchristian  men  of  both 
parties;  while  innocent  and  silent  on  the  hills  and  fields, 
God's  people  in  neglected  peace,  everywhere  and  for  ever 
Catholics,  lived  and  died.] 


THE    QUARRY.  57 

falsehood,  has  been  struck  from  that  instant 
with  an  intellectual  palsy,  which  has  not  only 
incapacitated  her  from  any  further  use  of  the 
arts  which  once  were  her  ministers,  but  has 
made  her  worship  the  shame  of  its  own  shrines, 
and  her  worshippers  their  destroyers.  Come, 
then,  if  truths  such  as  these  are  worth  our 
thoughts;  come,  and  let  us  know,  before  We 
enter  the  streets  of  the  Sea  city,  whether  we  are 
indeed  to  submit  ourselves  to  their  undistin- 
guished enchantment,  and  to  look  upon  the  last 
changes  which  were  wrought  on  the  lifted  forms 
of  her  palaces,  as  we  should  on  the  capricious 
towering  of  summer  clouds  in  the  sunset,  ere 
they  sank  into  the  deep  of  night;  or,  whether, 
rather,  we  shall  not  behold  in  the  brightness  of 
their  accumulated  marble,  pages  on  which  the 
sentence  of  her  luxury  was  to  be  written  until  the 
waves  should  efface  it,  as  they  fulfilled — "  God 
has  numbered  thy  kingdom,  and  finished  it." 


CHAPTER  II. 

[FIRST  OF  SECOND  VOLUME  IN  OLD  EDITION.] 
THE    THRONE. 

§  i.  IN  the  olden  days  of  travelling,  now  to 
return  no  more,  in  which  distance  could  not  be 
vanquished  without  toil,  but  in  which  that  toil 
was  rewarded,  partly  by  the  power  of  deliberate 
survey  of  the  countries  through  which  the  jour- 
ney lay,  and  partly  by  the  happiness  of  the  even- 
ing hours,  when,  from  the  top  of  the  last  hill  he 
had  surmounted,  the  traveller  beheld  the  quiet 
village  where  he  was  to  rest,  scattered  among 
the  meadows  beside  its  valley  stream;  or,  from 
the  long-hoped-for  turn  in  the  dusty  perspective 
of  the  causeway,  saw,  for  the  first  time,  the 
towers  of  some  famed  city,  faint  in  the  rays  of 
sunset — hours  of  peaceful  and  thoughtful  pleas- 
ure, for  which  the  rush  of  the  arrival  in  the  rail- 
way station  is  perhaps  not  always,  or  to  all  men, 
an  equivalent, — in  those  days,  I  say,  when  there 
was  something  more  to  be  anticipated  and  re- 

58 


THE    THRONE.  59 

rnembered  in  the  first  aspect  of  each  successive 
halting-place,  than  a  new  arrangement  of  glass 
roofing  and  iron  girder,  there  were  few  moments 
of  which  the  recollection  was  more  fondly  cher- 
ished by  the  traveller  than  that  which,  as  I  en- 
deavored to  describe  in  the  close  of  the  last 
chapter,  brought  him  within  sight  of  Venice,  as 
his  gondola  shot  into  the  open  lagoon  from  the 
canal  of  Mestre.  Not  but  that  the  aspect  of 
the  city  itself  was  generally  the  source  of  some 
slight  disappointment,  for,  seen  in  this  direction, 
its  buildings  are  far  less  characteristic  than  those 
of  the  other  great  towns  of  Italy;  but  this  inferi- 
ority was  partly  disguised  by  distance,  and  more 
than  atoned  for  by  the  strange  rising  of  its 
walls  and  towers  out  of  the  midst,  as  it  seemed, 
of  _the  deep  sea,  for  it  was  impossible  that  the 
mind  or  the  eye  could  at  once  comprehend  the 
shallowness  of  the  vast  sheet  of  water  which 
stretched  away  in  leagues  of  rippling  lustre  to 
the  north  and  south,  or  trace  the  narrow  line  of 
islets  bounding  it  to  the  east.  The  salt  breeze, 
the  white  moaning  sea-birds,  the  masses  of  black 
weed  separating  and  disappearing  gradually,  in 
knots  of  heaving  shoal,  under  the  advance  of 
the  steady  tide,  all  proclaimed  it  to  be  indeed 
the  ocean  on  whose  bosom  the  great  city  rested 
so  calmly;  not  such  blue,  soft,  lake-like  ocean 
as  bathes  the  Neapolitan  promontories,  or  sleeps 


60  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

beneath  the  marble  rocks  of  Genoa,  but  a  sea 
with  the  bleak  power  of  our  own  northern  waves, 
yet  subdued  into  a  strange  spacious  rest,  and 
changed  from  its  angry  pallor  into  a  field  of 
burnished  gold,  as  the  sun  declined  behind  the 
belfry  tower  of  the  lonely  island  church,  fitly 
named  "St.  George  of  the  Seaweed."  As  the 
boat  drew  nearer  to  the  city,  the  coast  which  the 
traveller  had  just  left  sank  behind  him  into  one 
long,  low,  sad-colored  line,  tufted  irregularly  with 
brushwood  and  willows:  but,  at  what  seemed  its 
northern  extremity,  the  hills  of  Arqua  rose  in  a 
dark  cluster  of  purple  pyramids,  balanced  on  the 
bright  mirage  of  the  lagoon;  two  or  three  smooth 
surges  of  inferior  hill  extended  themselves  about 
their  roots,  and  beyond  these,  beginning  with 
the  craggy  peaks  above  Vicenza,  the  chain  of 
the  Alps  girded  the  whole  horizon  to  the  north 
— a  wall  of  jagged  blue,  here  and  there  showing 
through  its  clefts  a  wilderness  of  misty  preci- 
pices, fading  far  back  into  the  recesses  of  Cadore, 
and  itself  rising  and  breaking  away  eastward, 
where  the  sun  struck  opposite  upon  its  snow, 
into  mighty  fragments  of  peaked  light,  standing 
up  behind  the  barred  clouds  of  evening,  one 
after  another,  countless,  the  crown  of  the  Adrian 
Sea,  until  the  eye  turned  back  from  pursuing 
them,  to  rest  upon  the  nearer  burning  of  the 
campaniles  of  Murano,  and  on  the  great  city, 


THE    THRONE.  6 1 

where  it  magnified  itself  along  the  waves,  as  the 
quick  silent  pacing  of  the  gondola  drew  nearer 
and  nearer.  And  at  last;  when  its  walls  were 
reached,  and  the  outmost  of  its  untrodden 
streets  was  entered,  not  through  towered  gate  or 
guarded  rampart,  but  as  a  deep  inlet  between; 
two  rocks  of  coral  in  the  Indian  sea;  when  first 
upon  the  traveller's  sight  opened  the  long  ranges 
of  columned  palaces, — each  with  its  black  boat 
moored  at  the  portal, —  each  with  its  image  cast 
down,  beneath  its  feet,  upon  that  green  pave- 
ment which  every  breeze  broke  into  new  fanta- 
sies of  rich  tessellation;  when  first,  at  the  extrem- 
ity of  the  bright  vista,  the  shadowy  Rialto  threw 
its  colossal  curve  slowly  forth  from  behind  the 
palace  of  the  Camerlenghi;  that  strange  curve, 
so  delicate,  so  adamantine,  strong  as  a  mountain 
cavern,  graceful  as  a  bow  just  bent;  when  first, 
before  its  moonlike  circumference  was  all  risen, 
the  gondolier's  cry,  "Ah!  Stall,"*  struck  sharp 
upon  the  ear,  and  the  prow  turned  aside  under 
the  mighty  cornices  that  half  met  over  the 
narrow  canal,  where  the  plash  of  the  water  fol- 
lowed close  and  loud,  ringing  along  the  marble 
by  the  boat's  side,  and  when  at  last  that  boat 
darted  forth  upon  the  breadth  of  silver  sea,  across 
which  the  front  of  the  Ducal  palace,  flushed 

*Appendix  i,   "The  Gondolier's  Cry  " 


62  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

with  its  sanguine  veins,  looks  to  the  snowy 
dome  of  Our  Lady  of  Salvation,*  it  was  no  mar- 
vel that  the  mind  should  be  so  deeply  entranced 
by  the  visionary  charm  of  a  scene  so  beautiful 
and  so  strange,  as  to  forget  the  darker  truths  of 
its  history  and  its  being.  Well  might  it  seem 
that  such  a  city  had  owed  her  existence  rather 
to  the  rod  of  the  enchanter,  than  the  fear  of  the 
fugitive;  that  the  waters  which  encircled  her  had 
been  chosen  for  the  mirror  of  her  state,  rather 
than  the  shelter  of  her  nakedness;  and  that  all 
which  in  nature  was  wild  or  merciless, — Time  and 
Decay,  as  well  as  the  waves  and  tempests, — had 
been  won  to  adorn  her  instead  of  to  destroy, 
and  might  still  spare,  for  ages  to  come,  that 
beauty  which  seemed  to  have  fixedfor  its  throne 
the  sands  of  the  hour-glass  as  well  as  of  the  sea. 
§  II.  And  although  the  last  few  eventful  years, 
fraught  with  change  to  the  face  of  the  whole 
earth,  have  been  more  fatal  in  their  influence  on 
Venice  than  the  five  hundred  that  preceded 
them;  though  the  noble  landscape  of  approach 
to  her  can  now  be  seen  no  more,  or  seen  only  by  a 
glance,  as  the  engine  slackens  its  rushing  on  the 
iron  line;  and  though  many  of  her  palaces  are  for 
ever  defaced,  and  many  in  desecrated  ruins,  there 
is  still  so  much  of  magic  in  her  aspect,  that  the 

*  Appendix  II,  "Our  Lady  of  Salvation." 


THE    THRONE,  63 

hurried  traveller,  who  must  leave  her  before  the 
wonder  of  that  first  aspect  has  been  worn  away, 
may  still  be  led  to  forget  the  humility  of  her  ori- 
gin, and  to  shut  his  eyes  to  the  depth  of  her  des- 
olation. They,  at  least,  are  little  to  be  envied,  in 
whose  hearts  the  great  charities  of  the  imagina- 
tion lie  dead,  and  for  whom  the  fancy  has  no 
power  to  repress  the  importunity  of  painful  im- 
pressions, or  to  raise  what  is  ignoble,  and  dis- 
guise what  is  discordant,  in  a  scene  so  rich  in 
its  remembrances,  so  surpassing  in  its  beauty. 
But  for  this  work  of  the  imagination  there  must 
be  no  permission  during  the  task  which  is  be- 
fore us.  The  impotent  feeling  of  romance,  so 
singularly  characteristic  of  this  century,  may 
indeed  gild,  but  never  save  the  remains  of  those 
mightier  ages  to  which  they  are  attached  like 
climbing  flowers;  and  they  must  be  torn  away 
from  the  magnificent  fragments,  if  we  would  see 
them  as  they  stood  in  their  own  strength.  Those 
feelings,  always  as  fruitless  as  they  are  fond,  are 
in  Venice  not  only  incapable  of  protecting,  but 
even  of  discerning,  the  objects  of  which  they 
ought  to  have  been  attached.  The  Venice  of 
modern  fiction  and  drama  is  a  thing  of  yesterday, 
a  mere  efflorescence  of  decay,  a  stage  dream 
which  the  first  ray  of  daylight  must  dissipate 
into  dust.  No  prisoner,  whose  name  is  worth 
remembering,  or  whose  sorrow  deserved  sympa- 


64  THE   STONES  OF   VENICE. 

thy,  ever  crossed  that  "  Bridge  of  Sighs,"  which 
is  the  centre  of  the  Byronic  ideal  of  Venice;  no 
great  merchant  of  Venice  ever  saw  that  Rialto 
under  which  the  traveller  now  passes  with  breath- 
less interest:  the  statue  which  Byron  makes 
Faliero  address  as  of  one  of  his  great  ancestors 
was  erected  to  a  soldier  of  fortune  a  hundred 
and  fifty  years  after  Faliero's  death;  and  the 
most  conspicuous  parts  of  the  city  have  been  so 
entirely  altered  in  the  course  of  the  last  three 
centuries,  that  if  Henry  Dandolo  or  Francis 
Foscari  could  be  summoned  from  their  tombs, 
and  stood  each  on  the  deck  of  his  galley  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Grand  Canal,  that  renowned  en- 
trance, the  painter's  favorite  subject,  the  novel- 
ist's favorite  scene,  where  the  water  first  narrows 
by  the  steps  of  the  Church  of  La  Salute, — the 
mighty  Doges  would  not  know  in  what  spot  of 
the  world  they  stood,  would  literally  not  recog- 
nize one  stone  of  the  great  city,  for  whose  sake, 
and  by  whose  ingratitude,  their  gray  hairs  had 
been  brought  down  with  bitterness  to  the  grave. 
The  remains  of  their  Venice  lie  hidden  behind 
the  cumbrous  masses  which  were  the  delight  of 
the  nation  in  its  dotage;  hidden  in  many  a  grass- 
grown  court,  and  silent  pathway,  and  lightless 
canal,  where  the  slow  waves  have  sapped  their 
foundations  for  five  hundred  years,  and  must 
soon  prevail  over  them  for  ever.  It  must  be  our 


THE    THRONE.  65 

task  to  glean  and  gather  them  forth,  and  restore 
out  of  them  some  faint  image  of  the  lost  city, 
more  gorgeous  a  thousand-fold  than  that  which 
now  exists,  yet  not  created  in  the  day-dream  of 
the  prince,  nor  by  the  ostentation  of  the  noble, 
but  built  by  iron  hands  and  patient  hearts,  con- 
tending against  the  adversity  of  nature  and  the 
fury  of  man,  so  that  its  wonderfulness  cannot 
be  grasped  by  the  indolence  of  imagination,  but 
only  after  frank  inquiry  into  the  true  nature  of 
that  wild  and  solitary  scene,  whose  restless  tides 
and  trembling  sands  did  indeed  shelter  the  birth 
of  the  city,  but  long  denied  her  dominion. 

§  in.  When  the  eye  falls  casually  on  a  map  of 
Europe,  there  is  no  feature  by  which  it  is  more 
likely  to  be  arrested  than  the  strange  sweeping 
loop  formed  by  the  junction  of  the  Alps  and  the 
Apennines,  and  enclosing  the  great  basin  of 
Lombardy.  This  return  of  the  mountain  chain 
upon  itself  causes  a  vast  difference  in  the  char- 
acter of  the  distribution  of  its  debris  on  its  op- 
posite sides.  The  rock  fragments  and  sediment 
which  the  torrents  on  the  north  side  of  the  Alps 
bear  into  the  plains  are  distributed  over  a  vast 
extent  of  country,  and,  though  here  and  there 
lodged  in  beds  of  enormous  thickness,  soon  per- 
mit the  firm  substrata  to  appear  from  underneath 
them;  but  all  the  torrents  which  descend  from 
the  southern  side  of  the  High  Alps,  and  from 


66  THE   STONES    OF    VENICE. 

the  northern  slope  of  the  Apennines,  meet  con- 
centrically in  the  recess  or  mountain  bay  which 
the  two  ridges  enclose;  every  fragment  which 
thunder  breaks  out  of  their  battlements,  and 
every  grain  of  dust  which  the  summer  rain 
washes  from  their  pastures,  is  at  last  laid  at  rest 
in  the  blue  sweep  of  the  Lombardic  plain;  and 
that  plain  must  have  risen  within  its  rocky  bar- 
riers as  a  cup  fills  with  wine,  but  for  two  contrary 
influences  which  continually  depress,  or  disperse 
from  its  surface,  the  accumulation  of  the  ruins 
of  ages. 

§  iv.  I  will  not  tax  the  reader's  faith  in  mod- 
ern science  by  insisting  on  the  singular  depres- 
sion of  the  surface  of  Lombardy,  which  appears 
for  many  centuries  to  have  taken  place  steadily 
and  continually;  the  main  fact  with  which  we 
have  to  do  is  the  gradual  transport,  by  the  Po 
and  its  great  collateral  rivers,  of  vas^  masses  of 
the  finer  sediment  to  the  sea.  The  character  of 
the  Lombardic  plains  is  most  strikingly  expressed 
by  the  ancient  walls  of  its  cities,  composed  for 
the  most  part  of  large  rounded  Alpine  pebbles 
alternating  with  narrow  courses  of  brick;  and 
was  curiously  illustrated  in  1848,  by  the  ramparts 
of  these  same  pebbles  thrown  up  four  or  five  feet 
high  round  every  field,  to  check  the  Austrian 
cavalry  in  the  battle  under  the  walls  of  Verona. 
The  finer  dust  among  which  these  pebbles  are 


THE    THRONE.  6/ 

dispersed  is  taken  up  by  the  rivers,  fed  into  con- 
tinual strength  by  the  Alpine  snow,  so  that,  how- 
ever pure  their  waters  may  be  when  they  issue 
from  the  lakes  at  the  foot  of  the  great  chain, 
they  become  of  the  color  and  opacity  of  clay 
before  they  reach  the  Adriatic;  the  sediment 
which  they  bear  is  at  once  thrown  down  as  they 
enter  the  sea,  forming  a  vast  belt  of  low  land 
along  the  eastern  coast  of  Italy.  The  powerful 
stream  of  the  Po  of  course  builds  forward  the 
fastest;  on  each  side  of  it,  north  and  south,  there 
is  a  tract  of  marsh,  fed  by  more  feeble  streams, 
and  less  liable  to  rapid  change  than  the  delta  of 
the  central  river.  In  one  of  these  tracts  is  built 
RAVENNA,  and  in  the  other  VENICE. 

§  v.  What  circumstances  directed  the  peculiar 
arrangement  of  this  great  belt  of  sediment  in 
the  earliest  times,  it  is  not  here  the  place  to  in- 
quire. It  is  enough  for  us  to  know  that  from 
the  mouths  of  the  Adige  to  those  of  the  Piave 
there  stretches,  at  a  variable  distance  of  from 
three  to  five  miles  from  the  actual  shore,  a  bank 
of  sand,  divided  into  long  islands  by  narrow 
channels  of  sea.  The  space  between  this  bank 
and  the  true  shore  consists  of  the  sedimentary 
deposits  from  these  and  other  rivers,  a  great 
plain  of  calcareous  mud,  covered,  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Venice,  by  the  sea  at  high  water,  to 
the  depth  in  most  places  of  a  foot  or  a  foot  and 


68  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

a  half,  and  nearly  everywhere  exposed  at  low 
tide,  but  divided  by  an  intricate  network  of 
narrow  and  winding  channels,  from  which  the 
sea  never  retires.  In  some  places,  according  to 
the  run  of  the  currents,  the  land  has  risen  into 
marshy  islets,  consolidated,  some  by  art,  and 
some  by  time,  into  ground  firm  enough  to  be 
built  upon,  or  fruitful  enough  to  be  cultivated: 
in  others,  on  the  contrary,  it  has  not  reached  the 
sea-level;  so  that,  at  the  average  low  water,  shal- 
low lakelets  glitter  among  its  irregularly  exposed 
fields  of  seaweed.  In  the  midst  of  the  largest 
of  these,  increased  in  importance  by  the  con- 
fluence of  several  large  river  channels  towards 
one  of  the  openings  in  the  sea  bank,  the  city  of 
Venice  itself  is  built,  on  a  clouded  cluster  of 
islands;  the  various  plots  of  higher  ground  which 
appear  to  the  north  and  south  of  this  central 
cluster,  have  at  different  periods  been  also 
thickly  inhabited,  and  now  bear,  according  to 
their  size,  the  remains  of  cities,  villages,  or  iso- 
lated convents  and  churches,  scattered  among 
spaces  of  open  ground,  partly  waste  and  encum- 
bered by  ruins,  partly  under  cultivation  for  the 
supply  of  the  metropolis. 

§  vi.  The  average  rise  and  fall  of  the  tide  is 
about  three  feet  (varying  considerably  with  the 
seasons*)  ;  but  this  fall,  on  so  flat  a  shore,  is 
Appendix  III,  "  Tides  of  Venice." 


THE   THRONE.  69 

enough  to  cause  continual  movement  in  the 
waters,  and  in  the  main  canals  to  produce  a  reflux 
which  frequently  runs  like  a  mill  stream.  At 
high  water  no  land  is  visible  for  many  miles  to 
the  north  or  south  of  Venice,  except  in  the  form 
of  small  islands  crowned  with  towers  or  gleam- 
ing with  villages:  there  is  a  channel,  some  three 
miles  wide,  between  the  city  and  the  mainland, 
and  some  mile  and  a  half  wide  between  it  and 
the  sandy  breakwater  called  the  Lido,  which  di- 
vides the  lagoon  from  the  Adriatic,  but  which  is 
so  low  as  hardly  to  disturb  the  impression  of  the 
city's  having  been  built  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean, 
although  the  secret  of  its  true  position  is  partly, 
yet  not  painfully,  betrayed  by  the  clusters  of 
piles  set  to  mark  the  deep-water  channels,  which 
undulate  far  away  in  spotty  chains  like  the 
studded  backs  of  huge  sea-snakes,  and  by  the 
quick  glittering  of  the  crisped  and  crowded 
waves  that  flicker  and  dance  before  the  strong 
winds  upon  the  unlifted  level  of  the  shallow  sea. 
But  the  scene  is  widely  different  at  low  tide.  A 
fall  of  eighteen  or  twenty  inches  is  enough  to 
show  ground  over  the  greater  part  of  the  lagoon; 
and  at  the  complete  ebb  the  city  is  seen  stand- 
ing in  the  midst  of  a  dark  plain  of  seaweed,  of 
gloomy  green,  except  only  where  the  larger 
branches  of  the  Brenta  and  its  associated  streams 
converge  towards  the  port  of  the  I/ido.  Through 


70  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

this  salt  and  sombre  plain  the  gondola  and  the 
fishing-boat  advance  by  tortuous  channels,  sel- 
dom more  than  four  or  five  feet  deep,  and  often 
so  choked  with  slime  that  the  heavier  keels  fur- 
row the  bottom  till  their  crossing  tracks  are  seen 
through  the  clear  sea  water  like  the  ruts  upon  a 
wintry  road,  and  the  oar  leaves  blue  gashes  upon 
the  ground  at  every  stroke,  or  is  entangled  among 
the  thick  weed  that  fringes  the  banks  with  the 
weight  of  its  sullen  waves,  leaning  to  and  fro 
upon  the  uncertain  sway  of  the  exhausted  tide. 
The  scene  is  often  profoundly  oppressive,  even 
at  this  day,  when  every  plot  of  higher  ground 
bears  some  fragment  of  fair  building:  but,  in 
order  to  know  what  it  was  once,  let  the  traveller 
follow  in  his  boat  at  evening  the  windings  of 
some  unfrequented  channel  far  into  the  midst  of 
the  melancholy  plain;  let  him  remove,  in  his 
imagination,  the  brightness  of  the  great  city  that 
still  extends  itself  in  the  distance,  and  the  walls 
and  towers  from  the  islands  that  are  near;  and 
so  wait,  until  the  bright  investiture  and  sweet 
warmth  of  the  sunset  are  withdrawn  from  the 
waters,  and  the  black  desert  of  their  shore  lies 
in  its  nakedness  beneath  the  night,  pathless, 
comfortless,  infirm,  lost  in  dark  languor  and 
fearful  silence,  except  where  the  salt  runlets 
plash  into  the  tideless  pools,  or  the  seabirds  flit 
from  their  margins  with  a  questioning  cry;  and 


THE    THRONE.  7 1 

he  will  be  enabled  to  enter  in  some  sort  into  the 
horror  of  heart  with  which  this  solitude  was 
anciently  chosen  by  man  for  his  habitation. 
They  little  thought,  who  first  drove  the  stakes 
into  the  sand,  and  strewed  the  ocean  reeds  for 
their  rest,  that  their  children  were  to  be  the 
princes  of  that  ocean,  and  their  palaces  its  pride; 
and  yet,  in  the  great  natural  laws  that  rule  that 
sorrowful  wilderness,  let  it  be  remembered  what 
strange  preparation  had  been  made  for  the 
things  which  no  human  imagination  could  have 
foretold,  and  how  the  whole  existence  and  for- 
tune of  the  Venetian  nation  were  anticipated  or 
compelled,  by  the  setting  of  those  bars  and 
doors  to  the  rivers  and  the  sea.  Had  deeper 
currents  divided  their  islands,  hostile  navies 
would  again  and  again  have  reduced  the  rising 
city  into  servitude;  had  stronger  surges  beaten 
their  shores,  all  the  richness  and  refinement  of 
the  Venetian  architecture  must  have  been  ex- 
changed for  the  walls  and  bulwarks  of  an  ordi- 
nary sea-port.  Had  there  been  no  tide,  as  in 
other  parts  of  the  Mediterranean,  the  narrow 
canals  of  the  city  would  have  become  noisome, 
and  the  marsh  in  which  it  was  built  pestiferous. 
Had  the  tide  been  only  a  foot  or  eighteen  inches 
higher  in  its  rise,  the  water-access  to  the  doors 
of  the  palaces  would  have  been  impossible:  even 
as  it  is,  there  is  sometimes  a  little  difficulty,  at 


72  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

the  ebb,  in  landing  without  setting  foot  upon 
the  lower  and  slippery  steps:  and  the  highest 
tides  sometimes  enter  the  courtyards,  and  over- 
flow the  entrance  halls.  Eighteen  inches  more 
of  difference  between  the  level  of  the  flood  and 
ebb  would  have  rendered  the  doorsteps  of  every 
palace,  at  low  water,  a  treacherous  mass  of  weeds 
and  limpets,  and  the  entire  system  of  water- 
carriage  for  the  higher  classes,  in  their  easy  and 
daily  intercourse,  must  have  been  done  away 
with.  The  streets  of  the  city  would  have  been 
widened,  its  network  of  canals  filled  up,  and  all 
the  peculiar  character  of  the  place  and  the  people 
destroyed. 

§  vn.  The  reader  may  perhaps  have  felt  some 
pain  in  the  contrast  between  this  faithful  view 
of  the  site  of  the  Venetian  Throne,  and  the  ro- 
mantic conception  of  it  which  we  ordinarily 
form;  but  this  pain,  if  he  have  felt  it,  ought  to 
be  more  than  counterbalanced  by  the  value  of 
the  instance  thus  afforded  to  us  at  once  of  the 
inscrutableness  and  the  wisdom  of  the  ways  of 
God.  If,  two  thousand  years  ago,  we  had  been 
permitted  to  watch  the  slow  settling  of  the  slime 
of  those  turbid  rivers  into  the  polluted  sea,  and 
the  gaining  upon  its  deep  and  fresh  waters  of  the 
lifeless,  impassable,  unvoyageable  plain,  how  little 
could  we  have  understood  the  purpose  with 
which  those  islands  were  shaped  out  of  the  void, 


THE    THRONE.  73 

and  the  torpid  waters  enclosed  with  their  deso- 
late walls  of  sand!  How  little  could  we  have 
known,  any  more  than  of  what  now  seems  to  us 
most  distressful,  dark,  and  objectless,  the  glori- 
ous aim  which  was  then  in  the  mind  of  Him  in 
whose  hand  are  all  the  corners  of  the  earth  1 
how  little  imagined  that  in  the  laws  which  were 
stretching  forth  the  gloomy  margins  of  those 
fruitless  banks,  and  feeding  the  bitter  grass 
among  their  shallows,  there  was  indeed  a  prepa- 
ration, and  the  only  preparation  possible,  for  the 
founding  of  a  city  which  was  to  be  set  like  " 
golden  clasp  on  the  girdle  of  the  earth,  to  write 
her  history  on  the  white  scrolls  of  the  sea-surges, 
and  to  word  it  in  their  thunder,  and  to  gather 
and  give  forth,  in  world-wide  pulsation,  the  glory 
of  the  West  and  of  the  East,  from  the  burning 
heart  of  her  Fortitude  and  Splendor. 


CHAPTER  III. 

[SECOND  OF  SECOND  VOLUME  IN  OLD  EDITION.] 
TORCELLO. 

§  i.  SEVEN  miles  to  the  north  of  Venice,  the 
banks  of  sand,  which  near  the  city  rise  little 
above  low-water  mark,  attain  by  degrees  a 
higher  level,  and  knit  themselves  at  last  into 
fields  of  salt  morass,  raised  here  and  there  into 
shapeless  mounds,  and  intercepted  by  narrow 
creeks  of  sea.  One  of  the  feeblest  of  these  in- 
lets, after  winding  for  some  time  among  buried 
fragments  of  masonry,  and  knots  of  sunburnt 
weeds  whitened  with  webs  of  fucus,  stays  itself 
in  an  utterly  stagnant  pool  beside  a  plot  of 
greener  grass  covered  with  ground  ivy  and  vio- 
lets. On  this  mound  is  built  a  rude  brick  cam- 
panile, of  the  commonest  Lombardic  type,  which 
if  we  ascend  towards  evening  (and  there  are 
none  to  hinder  us,  the  door  of  its  ruinous  stair- 
case swinging  idly  on  its  hinges),  we  may  com- 
mand from  it  one  of  the  most  notable  scenes  in 

74 


TOR  CELLO.  75 

this  wide  world  of  ours.  Far  as  the  eye  can 
reach,  a  waste  of  wild  sea  moor,  of  a  lurid  ashen 
gray;  not  like  our  northern  moors  with  their  jet- 
black  pools  and  purple  heath,  but  lifeless,  the 
color  of  sackcloth,  with  the  corrrupted  sea- 
water  soaking  through  the  roots  of  its  acrid 
weeds,  and  gleaming  hither  and  thither  through 
its  snaky  channels.  No  gathering  of  fantastic 
mists,  nor  coursing  of  clouds  across  it;  but  mel- 
ancholy clearness  of  space  in  the  warm  sunset, 
oppressive,  reaching  to  the  horizon  of  its  level 
gloom.  To  the  very  horizon,  on  the  north-east; 
but,  to  the  north  and  west,  there  is  a  blue  line 
of  higher  land  along  the  border  of  it,  and  above 
this,  but  farther  back,  a  misty  band  of  moun- 
tains, touched  with  snow.  To  the  east,  the  pale- 
ness and  roar  of  the  Adriatic,  louder  at  moment- 
ary intervals  as  the  surf  breaks  on  the  bars  of 
sand;  to  the  south,  the  widening  branches  of 
the  calm  lagoon,  alternately  purple  and  pale 
green,  as  they  reflect  the  evening  clouds  or  twi- 
light sky;  and  almost  beneath  our  feet,  on  the 
same  field  which  sustains  the  tower  we  gaze 
from,  a  group  of  four  buildings,  two  of  them 
little  larger  than  cottages  (though  built  of  stone, 
and  one  adorned  by  a  quaint  belfry),  the  third 
an  octagonal  chapel,  of  which  we  can  see  but 
little  more  than  the  flat  red  roof  with  its  rayed 
tiling,  the  fourth,  a  considerable  church  with 


76  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

nave  and  aisles,  but  of  which,  in  like  manner,  we 
can  see  little  but  the  long  central  ridge  and  lat- 
eral slopes  of  roof,  which  the  sunlight  separates 
in  one  glowing  mass  from  the  green  field  beneath 
and  gray  moor  beyond.  There  are  no  living 
creatures  near  the  buildings,  nor  any  vestige  of 
village  or  city  round  about  them.  They  lie  like 
a  little  company  of  ships  becalmed  on  a  far-away 
sea. 

§  ii.  Then  look  farther  to  the  south.  Beyond 
the  widening  branches  of  the  lagoon,  and  rising 
out  of  the  bright  lake  into  which  they  gather, 
there  are  a  multitude  of  towers,  dark,  and  scat- 
tered among  square-set  shapes  of  clustered 
palaces,  a  long  and  irregular  line  fretting  the 
southern  sky. 

Mother  and  daughter,  you  behold  them  both 
in  their  widowhood, — TORCELLO  and  VENICE. 

Thirteen  hundred  years  ago,  the  gray  moor- 
land looked  as  it  does  this  day,  and  the  purple 
mountains  stood  as  radiantly  in  the  deep  dis- 
tances of  evening;  but  on  the  line  of  the  hori- 
zon, there  were  strange  fires  mixed  with  the 
light  of  sunset,  and  the  lament  of  many  human 
voices  mixed  with  the  fretting  of  the  waves  on 
their  ridges  of  sand.  The  flames  rose  from  the 
ruins  of  Altinum;  the  lament  from  the  multi- 
tude of  its  people,  seeking,  like  Israel  of  old,  a 
refuge  from  the  sword  in  the  paths  of  the  sea. 


TORCELLO.  77 

The  cattle  are  feeding  and  resting  upon  the 
site  of  the  city  that  they  left;  the  mower's 
scythe  swept  this  day  at  dawn  over  the  chief 
street  of  the  city  that  they  built,  and  the  swathes 
of  soft  grass  are  now  sending  up  their  scent  into 
the  night  air,  the  only  incense  that  fills  the  tem- 
ple of  their  ancient  worship.  Let  us  go  down 
into  that  little  space  of  meadow  land. 

§  in.  The  inlet  which  runs  nearest  to  the  base 
of  the  campanile  is  not  that  by  which  Torcello 
is  commonly  approached.  Another,  somewhat 
broader,  and  overhung  by  alder  copse,  winds 
out  of  the  main  channel  of  the  lagoon  up  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  little  meadow  which  was  once 
the  Piazza  of  the  city,  and  there,  stayed  by  a 
few  grey  stones  which  present  some  semblance 
of  a  quay,  forms  its  boundary  at  one  extremity. 
Hardly  larger  than  an  ordinary  English  farm- 
yard, and  roughly  enclosed  on  each  side  by 
broken  palings  and  hedges  of  honeysuckle  and 
briar,  the  narrow  field  retires  from  the  water's 
edge,  traversed  by  a  scarcely  traceable  footpath, 
for  some  forty  or  fifty  paces,  and  then  expand- 
ing into  the  form  of  a  small  square,  with  build- 
ings on  three  sides  of  it,  the  fourth  being  that 
which  opens  to  the  water.  Two  of  these,  that 
on  our  left  and  that  in  front  of  us  as  we  ap- 
proach from  the  canal,  are  so  small  that  they 
might  well  be  taken  for  the  out-houses  of  the 


78  THE  STONES  OF    VENICE. 

farm,  though  the  first  is  a  conventual  building, 
and  the  other  aspires  to  the  title  of  the  "  Pal- 
azzo publico,"  both  dating  as  far  back  as  the 
beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century;  the  third, 
the  octagonal  church  of  Santa  Fosca,  is  far 
more  ancient  than  either,  yet  hardly  on  a  larger 
scale.  Though  the  pillars  of  the  portico  which 
surrounds  it  are  of  pure  Greek  marble,  and  their 
capitals  are  enriched  with  delicate  sculpture, 
they,  and  the  arches  they  sustain,  together  only 
raise  the  roof  to  the  height  of  a  cattle-shed;  and 
the  first  strong  impression  which  the  spectator 
receives  from  the  whole  scene  is,  that  whatever 
sin  it  may  have  been  which  has  on  this  spot 
been  visited  with  so  utter  a  desolation,  it  could 
not  at  least  have  been  ambition.  Nor  will  this 
impression  be  diminished  as  we  approach,  or 
enter,  the  larger  church  to  which  the  whole 
group  of  building  is  subordinate.  It  has  evi- 
dently been  built  by  men  in  flight  and  distress,* 
who  sought  in  the  hurried  erection  of  their  Isl- 
and church  such  a  shelter  for  their  earnest  and 
sorrowful  worship  as,  on  the  one  hand,  could 
not  attract  the  eyes  of  their  enemies  by  its 
splendor,  and  yet,  on  the  other,  might  not 
awaken  too  bitter  feelings  by  its  contrast  with 
the  churches  which  they  had  seen  destroyed. 

*  Appendix  IV,  "  Date  of  the  Duomo  of  Torcello." 


TOK  CELLO.  79 

There  is  visible  everywhere  a  simple  and  tender 
effort  to  recover  some  of  the  form  of  the  tem- 
ples which  they  had  loved,  and  to  do  honor  to 
God  by  that  which  they  were  erecting,  while 
distress  and  humiliation  prevented  the  desire, 
and  prudence  precluded  the  admission,  either  of 
luxury  of  ornament  or  magnificence  of  plan. 
The  exterior  is  absolutely  devoid  of  decoration, 
with  the  exception  only  of  the  western  entrance 
and  the  lateral  door,  of  which  the  former  has 
carved  sideposts  and  architrave,  and  the  latter, 
crosses  of  rich  sculpture;  while  the  massy  stone 
shutters  of  the  windows,  turning  on  huge  rings 
of  stone,  which  answer  the  double  purpose  of 
stanchions  and  brackets,  cause  the  whole  build- 
ing rather  to  resemble  a  refuge  from  Alpine 
storm  than  the  cathedral  of  a  populous  city; 
and,  internally,  the  two  solemn  mosaics  of  the 
eastern  and  western  extremities, — one  represent- 
ing the  Last  Judgment,  the  other  the  Madonna, 
her  tears  falling  as  her  hands  are  raised  to  bless, 
— and  the  noble  range  of  pillars  which  enclose 
the  space  between,  terminated  by  the  high 
throne  for  the  pastor  and  the  semicircular 
raised  seats  for  the  superior  clergy,  are  expres- 
sive at  once  of  the  deep  sorrow  and  the  sacred 
courage  of  men  who  had  no  home  left  them 
upon  earth,  but  who  looked  for  one  to  come,  of 


SO  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

men  "  persecuted  but  not  forsaken,  cast  down 
but  not  destroyed." 

§  iv.  For  observe  this  choice  of  subjects.  It 
is  indeed  possible  that  the  walls  of  the  nave  and 
aisles,  which  are  now  whitewashed,  may  have 
been  covered  with  fresco  or  mosaic,  and  thus 
have  supplied  a  series  of  subjects,  on  the  choice 
of  which  we  cannot  speculate.  I  do  not,  how- 
ever, find  record  of  the  destruction  of  any  such 
works;  and  I  am  rather  inclined  to  believe  that 
at  any  rate  the  central  division  of  the  building 
was  originally  decorated,  as  it  is  now,  simply  by 
mosaics  representing  Christ,  the  Virgin,  and  the 
apostles,  at  one  extremity,  and  Christ  coming 
to  judgment  at  the  other.  And  if  so,  I  repeat, 
observe  the  significance  of  this  choice.  Most 
other  early  churches  are  covered  with  imagery 
sufficiently  suggestive  of  the  vivid  interest  of 
the  builders  in  the  history  and  occupations  of 
the  world.  Symbols  or  representations  of  politi- 
cal events,  portraits  of  living  persons,  and 
sculptures  of  satirical,  grotesque,  or  trivial  sub- 
jects are  of  constant  occurrence,  mingled  with 
the  more  strictly  appointed  representations  of 
scriptural  or  ecclesiastical  history;  but  at  Tor- 
cello  even  these  usual,  and  one  should  have 
thought  almost  necessary,  successions  of  Bible 
events  do  not  appear.  The  mind  of  the  wor- 
shipper was  fixed  entirely  upon  two  great  facts, 


TORCELLO.  8 1 

to  him  the  most  precious  of  all  facts, — the  pres- 
ent mercy  of  Christ  to  His  Church,  and  His 
future  coming  to  judge  the  world.  That  Christ's 
mercy  was,  at  this  period,  supposed  chiefly  to  be 
attainable  through  the  pleading  of  the  Virgin, 
and  that  therefore  beneath  the  figure  of  the  Re- 
deemer is  seen  that  of  the  weeping  Madonna  in 
the  act  of  intercession,  may  indeed  be  matter  of 
sorrow  to  the  Protestant  beholder,  but  ought 
not  to  blind  him  to  the  earnestness  and  single- 
ness of  the  faith  with  which  these  men  sought 
their  sea-solitudes;  not  in  hope  of  founding 
new  dynasties,  or  entering  upon  new  epochs  of 
prosperity,  but  only  to  humble  themselves  be- 
fore God,  and  to  pray  that  in  His  infinite  mercy 
He  would  hasten  the  time  when  the  sea  should 
give  up  the  dead  which  were  in  it,  and  Death 
and  Hell  give  up  the  dead  which  were  in  them, 
and  when  they  might  enter  into  the  better  king- 
dom, "where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling 
and  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

§  v.  Nor  were  the  strength  and  elasticity  of 
their  minds,  even  in  the  least  matters,  dimin- 
ished by  thus  looking  forward  to  the  close  of  all 
things.  On  the  contrary,  nothing  is  more  re- 
markable than  the  finish  and  beauty  of  all  the 
portions  of  the  building,  which  seem  to  have 
been  actually  executed  for  the  place  they  occupy 
in  the  present  structure.  The  rudest  are  those 


82  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

which  they  brought  with  them  from  the  main- 
land; the  best  and  most  beautiful,  those  which 
appear  to  have  been  carved  for  their  island 
church:  of  these,  the  new  capitals  already  no- 
ticed, and  the  exquisite  panel  ornaments  of  the 
chancel  screen,  are  the  most  conspicuous;  the 
latter  form  a  low  wall  across  the  church  between 
the  six  small  shafts  whose  places  are  seen  in  the 
plan,  and  serve  to  enclose  a  space  raised  two 
steps  above  the  level  of  the  nave,  destined  for 
the  singers,  and  indicated  also  in  the  plan  by 
an  open  line  abed.  The  bas-reliefs  on  this  low 
screen  are  groups  of  peacocks  and  lions,  two 
face  to  face  on  each  panel,  rich  and  fantastic 
beyond  description,  though  not  expressive  of 
very  accurate  knowledge  either  of  leonine  or 
pavonine  forms.  And  it  is  not  until  we  pass  to 
the  back  of  the  stair  of  the  pulpit,  which  is  con- 
nected with  the  northern  extremity  of  this 
screen,  that  we  find  evidence  of  the  haste  with 
which  the  church  was  constructed. 

§  vi.  The  pulpit,  however,  is  not  among  the 
least  noticeable  of  its  features.  It  is  sustained 
on  the  four  small  detached  shafts  marked  at/ 
in  the  plan,  between  the  two  pillars  at  the  north 
side  of  the  screen;  both  pillars  and  pulpit  studi- 
ously plain,  while  the  staircase  which  ascends  to 
it  is  a  compact  mass  of  masonry  (shaded  in  the 
plan),  faced  by  carved  slabs  of  marble;  the  para- 


TORCELLO.  83 

pet  of  the  staircase  being  also  formed  of  solid 
blocks  like  paving-stones,  lightened  by  rich,  but 
not  deep,  exterior  carving.  Now  these  blocks,  or 
at  least  those  which  adorn  the  staircase  towards 
the  aisle,  have  been  brought  from  the  mainland; 
and,  being  of  size  and  shape  not  easily  to  be  ad- 
justed to  the  proportions  of  the  stair,  the  archi- 
tect has  cut  out  of  them  pieces  of  the  size  he 
needed,  utterly  regardless  of  the  subject  or  sym- 
metry of  the  original  design.  The  pulpit  is  not 
the  only  place  where  this  rough  procedure  has 
been  permitted:  at  the  lateral  door  of  the  church 
are  two  crosses,  cut  out  of  slabs  of  marble,  for- 
merly covered  with  rich  sculpture  over  their 
whole  surfaces,  of  which  portions  are  left  on  the 
surface  of  the  crosses;  the  lines  of  the  original 
design  being,  of  course,  just  as  arbitrarily  cut  by 
the  incisions  between  the  arms,  as  the  patterns 
upon  a  piece  of  silk  which  has  been  shaped 
anew.  The  fact  is,  that  in  all  early  Romanesque 
work,  large  surfaces  are  covered  with  sculpture 
for  the  sake  of  enrichment  only;  sculpture  which 
indeed  had  always  meaning,  because  it  was  easier 
for  the  sculptor  to  work  with  some  chain  of 
thought  to  guide  his  chisel,  than  without  any; 
but  it  was  not  always  intended,  or  at  least  not 
always  hoped,  that  this  chain  of  thought  might 
be  traced  by  the  spectator.  All  that  was  pro- 
posed appears  to  have  been  the  enrichment  of 


84  THE   STONES  OF   VENICE. 

surface,  so  as  to  make  it  delightful  to  the  eye; 
and  this  being  once  understood,  a  decorated 
piece  of  marble  became  to  the  architect  just 
what  a  piece  of  lace  or  embroidery  is  to  a  dress- 
maker, who  takes  of  it  such  portions  as  she  may 
require,  with  little  regard  to  the  places  where 
the  patterns  are  divided.  And  though  it  may 
appear,  at  first  sight,  that  the  procedure  is  indi- 
cative of  bluntness  and  rudeness  of  feeling,  we 
may  perceive,  upon  reflection,  that  it  may  also 
indicate  the  redundance  of  power  which  sets 
little  price  upon  its  own  exertion.  When  a  bar- 
barous nation  builds  its  fortress-walls  out  of 
fragments  of  the  refined  architecture  it  has  over- 
thrown, we  can  read  nothing  but  its  savageness 
in  the  vestiges  of  art  which  may  thus  chance  to 
have  been  preserved;  but  when  the  new  work  is 
equal,  if  not  superior,  in  execution,  to  the  pieces 
of  the  older  art  which  are  associated  with  it,  we 
may  justly  conclude  that  the  rough  treatment  to 
which  the  latter  have  been  subjected  is  rather  a 
sign  of  the  hope  of  doing  better  things,  than  of 
want  of  feeling  for  those  already  accomplished. 
And,  in  general,  this  careless  fitting  of  ornament 
is,  in  very  truth,  an  evidence  of  life  in  the  school 
of  builders,  and  of  their  making  a  due  distinc- 
tion between  work  which  is  to  be  used  for  archi- 
tectural effect,  and  work  which  is  to  possess  an 
abstract  perfection;  and  it  commonly  shows 


TORCELLO.  85 

also  that  the  exertion  of  design  is  so  easy  to 
them,  and  their  fertility  so  inexhaustible,  that 
they  feel  no  remorse  in  using  somewhat  injuri- 
ously what  they  can  replace  with  so  slight  an 
effort. 

§  vn.  It  appears  however  questionable  in  the 
present  instance,  whether,  if  the  marbles  had  not 
been  carved  to  his  hand,  the  architect  would 
have  taken  the  trouble  to  enrich  them.  For 
the  execution  of  the  rest  of  the  pulpit  is  studi- 
ously simple,  and  it  is  in  this  respect  that  its 
design  possesses,  it  seems  to  me,  an  interest  to 
the  religious  spectator  greater  than  he  will  take 
in  any  other  portion  of  the  building.  It  is  sup- 
ported, as  I  said,  on  a  group  of  four  slender 
shafts;  itself  of  a  slightly  oval  form,  extending 
nearly  from  one  pillar  of  the  nave  to  the  next, 
so  as  to  give  the  preacher  free  room  for  the  action 
of  the  entire  person,  which  always  gives  an  unaf- 
fected impressiveness  to  the  eloquence  of  the 
southern  nations.  In  the  centre  of  its  curved 
front,  a  small  bracket  and  detached  shaft  sus- 
tain the  projection  of  a  narrow  marble  desk 
(occupying  the  place  of  a  cushion  in  a  modern 
pulpit),  which  is  hollowed  out  into  a  shallow 
curve  on  the  upper  surface,  leaving  a  ledge  at 
the  bottom  of  the  slab,  so  that  a  book  laid 
upon  it,  or  rather  into  it,  settles  itself  there, 
opening  as  if  by  instinct,  but  without  the  least 


86  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

chance  of  slipping  to  the  side,  or  in  any  way 
moving  beneath  the  preacher's  hands.  Six  balls, 
or  rather  almonds,  of  purple  marble  veined  with 
white  are  set  round  the  edge  of  the  pulpit,  and 
form  its  only  decoration.  Perfectly  graceful,  but 
severe  and  almost  cold  in  its  simplicity,  built  for 
permanence  and  service,  so  that  no  single  mem- 
ber, no  stone  of  it,  could  be  spared,  and  yet  all 
are  firm  and  uninjured  as  when  they  were  first 
set  together,  it  stands  in  venerable  contrast  both 
with  the  fantastic  pulpits  of  mediaeval  cathedrals 
and  with  the  rich  furniture  of  those  of  our  mod- 
ern churches.  It  is  worth  while  pausing  for  a 
moment  to  consider  how  far  the  manner  of  deco- 
rating a  pulpit  may  have  influence  on  the  effi- 
ciency of  its  service,  and  whether  our  modern 
treatment  of  this,  to  us  all-important,  feature  of 
a  church  be  the  best  possible.* 

§  vin.  When  the  sermon  is  good  we  need  not 
much  concern  ourselves  about  the  form  of  the 
pulpit.  But  sermons  cannot  always  be  good; 
and  I  believe  that  the  temper  in  which  the  con- 
gregation set  themselves  to  listen  may  be  in  some 
degree  modified  by  their  perception  of  fitness  or 
unfitness,  impressiveness  or  vulgarity,  in  the  dis- 
position of  the  place  appointed  for  the  speaker, 
— not  to  the  same  degree,  but  somewhat  in  the 

*  Appendix  V.,  "  Modern  Pulpits." 


TORCELLO.  87 

same  way,  that  they  may  be  influenced  by  his 
own  gestures  or  expression,  irrespective  of  the 
sense  of  what  he  says.  I  believe,  therefore,  in 
the  first  place,  that  pulpits  ought  never  to  be 
highly  decorated;  the  speaker  is  apt  to  look 
mean  or  diminutive  if  the  pulpit  is  either  on  a 
very  large  scale  or  covered  with  splendid  orna- 
ment, and  if  the  interest  of  the  sermon  should 
flag  the  mind  is  instantly  tempted  to  wander.  I 
have  observed  that  in  almost  all  cathedrals^ 
when  the  pulpits  are  peculiarly  magnificent,  ser- 
mons are  not  often  preached  from  them;  but 
rather,  and  especially  if  for  any  important  pur- 
pose, from  some  temporary  erection  in  other 
parts  of  the  building:  and  though  this  may  often 
be  done  because  the  architect  has  consulted  the 
effect  upon  the  eye  more  than  the  convenience 
of  the  ear  in  the  placing  of  his  larger  pulpit,-! 
think  it  also  proceeds  in  some  measure  from  a 
natural  dislike  in  the  preacher  to  match  himself 
with  the  magnificence  of  the  rostrum,  lest  the 
sermon  should  not  be  thought  worthy  of  the 
place.  Yet  this  will  rather  hold  of  the  colossal 
sculptures,  and  pyramids  of  fantastic  tracery 
which  encumber  the  pulpits  of  Flemish  and  Ger- 
man churches,  than  of  the  delicate  mosaics  and 
ivory-like  carving  of  the  Romanesque  basilicas^ 
for  when  the  form  is  kept  simple,  much  loveli- 
ness of  color  and  costliness  of  work  may  be  in- 


88  THE   STONES   OF    VENICE. 

troduced,  and  yet  the  speaker  not  be   thrown 
into  the  shade  by  them. 

§  ix.  But,  in  the  second  place,  whatever  orna- 
ments we  admit  ought  clearly  to  be  of  a  chaste, 
grave,  and  noble  kind;  and  what  furniture  we 
employ,  evidently  more  for  the  honoring  of  God's 
word  than  for  the  ease  of  the  preacher.  For 
there  are  two  ways  of  regarding  a  sermon,  either 
as  a  human  composition,  or  a  Divine  message. 
If  we  look  upon  it  entirely  as  the  first,  and  re- 
quire our  clergymen  to  finish  it  with  their  utmost 
care  and  learning,  for  our  better  delight  whether 
of  ear  or  intellect,  we  shall  necessarily  be  led  to 
expect  much  formality  and  stateliness  in  its  de- 
livery, and  to  think  that  all  is  not  well  if  the  pul- 
pit have  not  a  golden  fringe  round  it,  and  a  good- 
ly cushion  in  front  of  it,  and  if  the  sermon  be 
not  fairly  written  in  a  black  book,  to  be  smoothed 
upon  the  cushion  in  a  majestic  manner  before 
beginning;  all  this  we  shall  duly  come  to  expect: 
but  we  shall  at  the  same  time  consider  the  trea- 
tise thus  prepared  as  something  to  which  it  is 
our  duty  to  listen  without  restlessness  for  half 
an  hour  or  three  quarters,  but  which,  when  that' 
duty  has  been  decorously  performed,  we  may 
dismiss  from  our  minds  in  happy  confidence  of 
being  provided  with  another  when  next  it  shall 
be  necessary.  But  if  once  we  begin  to  regard 
the  preacher,  whatever  his  faults,  as  a  man  sent 


TOR  CELLO.  89 

with  a  message  to  us,  which  it  is  a  matter  of  life  or 
death  whether  we  hear  or  refuse;  if  we  look  upon 
him  as  set  in  charge  over  many  spirits  in  danger 
of  ruin,  and  having  allowed  to  him  but  an  hour 
or  two  in  the  seven  days  to  speak  to  them;  if  we 
make  some  endeavor  to  conceive  how  precious 
these  hours  ought  to  be  to  him,  a  small  vantage 
on  the  side  of  God  after  his  flock  have  been  ex- 
posed for  six  days  together  to  the  full  weight  of 
the  world's  temptation,  and  he  has  been  forced 
to  watch  the  thorn  and  the  thistle  springing  in 
their  hearts,  and  to  see  what  wheat  had  been 
scattered  there  snatched  from  the  wayside  by 
this  wild  bird  and  the  other,  and  at  last,  when 
breathless  and  weary  with  the  week's  labor  they 
give  him  this  interval  of  imperfect  and  languid 
hearing,  he  has  but  thirty  minutes  to  get  at  the 
separate  hearts  of  a  thousand  men,  to  convince 
them  of  all  their  weaknesses,  to  shame  them  for 
all  their  sins,  to  worn  them  of  all  their  dangers,, 
to  try  by  this  way  and  that  to  stir  the  hard 
fastenings  of  those  doors  where  the  Master 
himself  has  stood  and  knocked  yet  none 
opened,  and  to  call  at  the  openings  of  those 
dark  streets  where  Wisdom  herself  hath  stretched 
forth  her  hands  and  no  man  regarded, — thirty 
minutes  to  raise  the  dead  in, — let  us  but  once 
understand  and  feel  this,  and  we  shall  look  with 
changed  eyes  upon  that  frippery  of  gay  furniture 


go  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

about  the  place  from  which  the  message  of  judg- 
ment must  be  delivered,  which  either  breathes 
upon  the  dry  bones  that  they  may  live,  or,  if  in- 
effectual, remains  recorded  in  condemnation, 
perhaps  against  the  utterer  and  listener  alike, 
but  assuredly  against  one  of  them.  We  shall 
not  so  easily  bear  with  the  silk  and  gold  upon 
the  seat  of  judgment,  nor  with  ornament  of  ora- 
tory in  the  mouth  of  the  messenger:  we  shall 
wish  that  his  words  may  be  simple,  even  when 
they  are  sweetest,  and  the  place  from  which  he 
speaks  like  a  marble  rock  in  the  desert,  about 
which  the  people  have  gathered  in  their  thirst. 

§  x.  But  the  severity  which  is  so  marked  in 
the  pulpit  at  Torcello  is  still  more  striking  in  the 
raised  seats  and  episcopal  throne  which  occupy 
the  curve  of  the  apse.  The  arrangement  at  first 
somewhat  recalls  to  the  mind  that  of  the  Roman 
amphitheatres;  the  flight  of  steps  which  lead  up 
to  the  central  throne  divides  the  curve  of  the 
continuous  steps  or  seats  (it  appears  in  the  first 
three  ranges  questionable  which  were  intended, 
for  they  seem  too  high  for  the  one,  and  too  low 
and  close  for  the  other),  exactly  as  in  an  amphi- 
theatre the  stairs  for  access  intersect  the  sweep- 
ing ranges  of  seats.  But  in  the  very  rudeness 
of  this  arrangement,  and  especially  in  the  want 
of  all  appliances  of  comfort  (for  the  whole  is  of 
marble,  and  the  arms  of  the  central  throne  are 


TORCELLO.  91 

not  for  convenience,  but  for  distinction,  and 
to  separate  it  more  conspicuously  from  the  un- 
divided seats),  there  is  a  dignity  which  no  furni- 
ture of  stalls  nor  carving  of  canopies  ever  could 
attain,  and  well  worth  the  contemplation  of  the 
Protestant,  both  as  sternly  significative  of  an 
episcopal  authority  which  in  the  early  days  of 
the  Church  was  never  disputed,  and  as  depend- 
ent for  all  its  impressiveness  on  the  utter  ab- 
sence of  any  expression  either  of  pride  or  self- 
indulgence. 

§  XL  But  there  is  one  more  circumstance 
which  we  ought  to  remember  as  giving  peculiar 
significance  to  the  position  which  the  episcopal 
throne  occupies  in  this  island  church,  namely, 
that  in  the  minds  of  all  early  Christians  the 
Church  itself  was  most  frequently  symbolized 
under  the  image  of  a  ship,  of  which  the  bishop 
was  the  pilot.  Consider  the  force  which  this 
symbol  would  assume  in  the  imaginations  of  men 
to  whom  the  spiritual  Church  had  become  an 
ark  of  refuge  in  the  midst  of  a  destruction  hardly 
less  terrible  than  that  from  which  the  eight  souls 
were  saved  of  old,  a  destruction  in  which  the 
wrath  of  man  had  become  as  broad  as  the  earth 
and  as  merciless  as  the  sea,  and  who  saw  the 
actual  and  literal  edifice  of  the  Church  raised  up, 
itself  like  an  ark  in  the  midst  of  the  waters.  No 
marvel  if  with  the  surf  of  the  Adriatic  rolling 


92  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

between  them  and  the  shores  of  their  birth,  from 
which  they  were  separated  for  ever,  they  should 
have  looked  upon  each  other  as  the  disciples  did 
when  the  storm  came  down  on  the  Tiberias 
Lake,  and  have  yielded  ready  and  loving  obedi- 
ence to  those  who  ruled  them  in  His  name,  who 
had  there  rebuked  the  winds  and  commanded 
stillness  to  the  sea.  And  if  the  stranger  would 
yet  learn  in  what  spirit  it  was  that  the  dominion 
of  Venice  was  begun,  and  in  what  strength  she 
went  forth  conquering  and  to  conquer,  let 
him  not  seek  to  estimate  the  wealth  of  her 
arsenals  or  number  of  her  armies,  nor  look 
upon  the  pageantry  of  her  palaces,  nor  enter 
into  the  secrets  of  her  councils;  but  let  him 
ascend  the  highest  tier  of  the  stern  ledges  that 
sweep  round  the  altar  of  Torcello,  and  then* 
looking  as  the  pilot  did  of  old  along  the 
marble  ribs  of  the  goodly  temple-ship,  let  him 
repeople  its  veined  deck  with  the  shadows 
of  its  dead  mariners,  and  strive  to  feel  in 
himself  the  strength  of  heart  that  was  kindled 
within  them,  when  first,  after  the  pillars  of  it  had 
settled  in  the  sand,  and  the  roof  of  it  had  been 
closed  against  the  angry  sky  that  was  still  red- 
dened by  the  fires  of  their  homesteads, — first, 
within  the  shelter  of  its  knitted  walls,  amidst 
the  murmur  of  the  waste  of  waves  and  the  beat- 


TOKCELLO. 


93 


ing  of  the  wings  of  the  sea-birds  round  the  rock 
that  was  strange  to  them, — rose  that  ancient 
hymn,  in  the  power  of  their  gathered  voices: 

THE  SEA  is  His,  AND  HE  MADE  IT, 

AND    HlS    HANDS   PREPARED   THE   DRY   LAND. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ST.  MARK'S. 

§  i.  "  AND  so  Barnabas  took  Mark,  and  sailed 
unto  Cyprus."  If  as  the  shores  of  Asia  lessened 
upon  his  sight,  the  spirit  of  prophecy  had  en- 
tered into  the  heart  of  the  weak  disciple  who 
had  turned  back  when  his  hand  was  on  the 
plough,  and  who  had  been  judged,  by  the  chief  - 
est  of  Christ's  captains,  unworthy  thencefor- 
ward to  go  forth  with  him  to  the  work,*  how 
wonderful  would  he  have  thought  it,  that  by  the 
lion  symbol  in  future  ages  he  was  to  be  repre- 
sented among  men!  how  woful,  that  the  war- 
cry  of  his  name  should  so  often  reanimate  the 
rage  of  the  soldier,  on  those  very  plains  where 
he  himself  had  failed  in  the  courage  of  the 
Christian,  and  so  often  dye  with  fruitless  blood 
that  very  Cypriot  Sea,  over  whose  waves,  in  re- 
pentance and  shame,  he  was  following  the  Son 
of  Consolation! 

*  Acts,  xiii.  13;  xv.  38,  39. 

94 


ST.   MARK'S.  95 

§  ii.  That  the  Venetians  possessed  themselves 
of  his  body  in  the  ninth  century,  there  appears 
no  sufficient  reason  to  doubt,  nor  that  it  was 
principally  in  consequence  of  their  having  done 
so,  that  they  chose  him  for  their  patron  saint. 
There  exists,  however,  a  tradition  that  before 
he  went  into  Egypt  he  had  founded  the  Church 
at  Aquileia,  and  was  thus,  in  some  sort,  the  first 
bishop  of  the  Venetian  isles  and  people.  I  be- 
lieve that  this  tradition  stands  on  nearly  as  good 
grounds  as  that  of  St.  Peter  having  been  the 
first  bishop  of  Rome;*  but,  as  usual,  it  is  en- 
riched by  various  later  additions  and  embellish- 
ments, much  resembling  the  stories  told  respect- 
ing the  church  of  Murano.  Thus  we  find  it 
recorded  by  the  Santo  Padre  who  compiled  the 
"  Vite  de'  Santi  spettanti  alle  Chiese  di  Vene- 
zia,"f  that  "  St.  Mark  having  seen  the  people  of 
Aquileia  well  grounded  in  religion,  and  being 
called  to  Rome  by  St.  Peter,  before  setting  off 
took  with  him  the  holy  bishop  Hermagoras,  and 
went  in  a  small  boat  to  the  marshes  of  Venice. 
There  were  at  that  period  some  houses  built 
upon  a  certain  high  bank  called  Rialto,  and  the 
boat  being  driven  by  the  wind  was  anchored  in 

*  The  reader  who  desires  to  investigate  it  may  consult 
Galliciolli,  "  Delle  Memorie  Venete "  (Venice,  1795), 
torn.  ii.  p.  332,  and  the  authorities  quoted  by  him. 

f  Venice,  1761,  torn.  i.  p.  126. 


96  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

a  marshy  place,  when  St.*  Mark,  snatched  into 
ecstasy,  heard  the  voice  of  an  angel  saying  to 
him:  '  Peace  be  to  thee,  Mark;  here  shall  thy 
body  rest.'  "  The  angel  goes  on  to  foretell  the 
building  of  "  una  stupenda,  ne  piu  veduta 
Citta;"  but  the  fable  is  hardly  ingenious  enough 
to  deserve  farther  relation. 

§  in.  But  whether  St.  Mark  was  first  bishop 
of  Aquileia  or  not,  St.  Theodore  was  the  first 
patron  of  the  city;  nor  can  he  yet  be  considered 
as  having  entirely  abdicated  his  early  right,  as 
his  statue,  standing  on  a  crocodile,  still  com- 
panions the  winged  lion  on  the  opposing  pillar 
of  the  piazzetta.  A  church  erected  to  this 
Saint  is  said  to  have  occupied,  before  the  ninth 
century,  the  site  of  St.  Mark's;  and  the  traveller, 
dazzled  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  great  square, 
ought  not  to  leave  it  without  endeavoring  to 
imagine  its  aspect  in  that  early  time,  when  it 
was  a  green  field  cloister-like  and  quiet,*  di- 
vided by  a  small  canal,  with  a  line  of  trees  on 
each  side;  and  extending  between  the  two 
churches  of  St.  Theodore  and  St.  Geminian,  as 


*  St.  Mark's  Place,  "partly  covered  by  turf,  and 
planted  with  a  few  trees;  and  on  account  of  its  pleasant 
aspect  called  Brollo  or  Broglio,  that  is  to  say,  Garden." 
The  canal  passed  through  it,  over  which  is  built  the  bridge 
of  the  Malpassi.  Galliciolli,  lib.  i.  cap.  viii. 


ST.    MARK'S.  97 

the  little  piazza,  of  Torcello  lies  between  its 
"  palazzo  "  and  cathedral. 

§  iv.  But  in  the  year  813,  when  the  seat  of 
government  was  finally  removed  to  the  Rialto,  a 
Ducal  Palace,  built  on  the  spot  where  the  present 
one  stands,  with  a  Ducal  Chapel  beside  it,*  gave 
a  very  different  character  to  the  Square  of  St_ 
Mark;  and  fifteen  years  later,  the  acquisition  of 
the  body  of  the  Saint,  and  its  deposition  in  the 
Ducal  Chapel,  perhaps  not  yet  completed,  oc- 
casioned the  investiture  of  that  chapel  with  all 
possible  splendor.  St.  Theodore  was  deposed 
from  his  patronship,  and  his  church  destroyed, 
to  make  room  for  the  aggrandizement  of  the 
one  attached  to  the  Ducal  Palace,  and  thence- 
forward known  as  "  St.  Mark's,  "f 

§  v.  This  first  church  was  however  destroyed 
by  fire,  when  the  Ducal  Palace  was  burned  in 
the  revolt  against  Candiano,  in  976.  It  was 
partly  rebuilt  by  his  successor,  Pietro  Orseolo, 
on  a  larger  scale;  and  with  the  assistance  of 
Byzantine  architects,  the  fabric  was  carried  on 
tinder  successive  Doges  for  nearly  a  hundred 
years;  the  main  building  being  completed  in 
1071,  but  its  incrustation  with  marble  not  till 


*  My  authorities  for  this  statement  are  given  below,  in 
the  chapter  on  the  Ducal  Palace. 

f  In  the  Chronicles,  "  Sancti  Marci  Ducalis  Cappella." 


98  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

considerably  later.  It  was  consecrated  on  the 
8th  of  October,  1085,*  according  to  Sansovino 
and  the  author  of  the  "Chiesa  Ducale  di  S. 
Marco,"  in  1094  according  to  Lazari,  but  cer- 
tainly between  1084  and  1096,  those  years  be- 
ing the  limits  of  the  reign  of  Vital  Falier;  I 
incline  to  the  supposition  that  it  was  soon  after 
his  accession  to  the  throne  in  1085,  though 
Sansovino  writes,  by  mistake,  Ordelafo  instead 
of  Vital  Falier.  But,  at  all  events,  before  the 
close  of  the  eleventh  century  the  great  conse- 
cration of  the  church  took  place.  It  was  again 
injured  by  fire  in  1106,  but  repaired;  and  from 
that  time  to  the  fall  of  Venice  there  was  proba- 
bly no  Doge  who  did  not  in  some  slight  degree 
embellish  or  alter  the  fabric,  so  that  few  parts 
of  it  can  be  pronounced  boldly  to  be  of  any 
given  date.  Two  periods  of  interference  are, 
however,  notable  above  the  rest:  the  first,  that 

*  "To  God  the  Lord,  the  glorious  Virgin  Annunciate, 
and  the  Protector  St.  Mark." — Corner,  p.  14.  It  is  need- 
less to  trouble  the  reader  with  the  various  authorities  for 
the  above  statements:  I  have  consulted  the  best.  The 
previous  inscription  once  existing  on  the  church  itself: 
' '  Anno  milleno  transacto  bisque  trigeno 

Desuper  undecimo  fuit  facta  primo," 
is  no  longer  to  be  seen,  and  is  conjectured  by  Corner, 
with  much  probability,  to  have  perished  "  in  qualche  ris- 
tauro." 


ST.   MARKS.  99 

in  which  the  Gothic  school  had  superseded  the 
Byzantine  towards  the  close  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  when  the  pinnacles,  upper  archivolts, 
and  window  traceries  were  added  to  the  exte- 
rior, and  the  great  screen,  with  various  chapels 
and  tabernacle-work,  to  the  interior;  the  sec- 
ond, when  the  Renaissance  school  superseded 
the  Gothic,  and  the  pupils  of  Titian  and  Tin- 
toret  substituted,  over  one  half  of  the  church, 
their  own  compositions  for  the  Greek  mosaics 
with  which  it  was  originally  decorated  ;*  happily, 
though  with  no  good  will,  having  left  enough  to 
enable  us  to  imagine  and  lament  what  they  de- 
stroyed. Of  this  irreparable  loss  we  shall  have 
more  to  say  hereafter;  meantime,  I  wish  only  to 
fix  in  the  reader's  mind  the  succession  of  periods 
of  alteration  as  firmly  and  simply  as  possible. 

§  vi.  We  have  seen  that  the  main  body  of  the 
church  may  be  broadly  stated  to  be  of  the  elev- 
enth century,  the  Gothic  additions  of  the  four- 
teenth, and  the  restored  mosaics  of  the  seven- 
teenth. There  is  no  difficulty  in  distinguishing 
at  a  glance  the  Gothic  portions  from  the  By- 
zantine; but  there  is  considerable  difficulty  in 
ascertaining  how  long,  during  the  course  of  the 
twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  additions  were 
made  to  the  Byzantine  church,  which  cannot  be 


*  Signed  Bartolomeus  Bozza,  1634,  1647,  1656,  Etc. 


100  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

easily  distinguished  from  the  work  of  the  elev- 
enth century,  being  purposely  executed  in  the 
same  manner.  Two  of  the  most  important 
pieces  of  evidence  on  this  point  are,  a  mosaic 
in  the  south  transept,  and  another  over  the 
northern  door  of  the  facade;  the  first  represent- 
ing the  interior,  the  second  the  exterior,  of  the 
ancient  church. 

§  vii.  It  has  just  been  stated  that  the  exist- 
ing building  was  consecrated  by  the  Doge  Vital 
Falier.  A  peculiar  solemnity  was  given  to  that 
of  consecration,  in  the  minds  of  the  Venetian 
people,  by  what  appears  to  have  been  one  of  the 
best  arranged  and  most  successful  impostures 
ever  attempted  by  the  clergy  of  the  Romish 
church.  The  body  of  St.  Mark  had,  without 
doubt,  perished  in  the  conflagration  of  976;  but 
the  revenues  of  the  church  depended  too  much 
upon  the  devotion  excited  by  these  relics  to 
permit  the  confession  of  their  loss.  The  fol- 
lowing is  the  account  given  by  Corner,  and  be- 
lieved to  this  day  by  the  Venetians,  of  the  pre- 
tended miracle  by  which  it  was  concealed. 

"  After  the  repairs  undertaken  by  the  Doge 
Orseolo,  the  place  in  which  the  body  of  the  holy 
Evangelist  rested  had  been  altogether  forgotten, 
.so  that  the  Doge  Vital  Falier  was  entirely  igno- 
rant of  the  place  of  the  venerable  deposit.  This 
was  no  light  affliction,  not  only  to  the  pious 


ST.   MARK'S.  IOI 

Doge,  but  to  all  the  citizens  and  people;  so  that 
at  last,  moved  by  confidence  in  the  Divine 
mercy,  they  determined  to  implore,  with  prayer 
and  fasting,  the  manifestation  of  so  great  a 
treasure,  which  did  not  now  depend  upon  any 
human  effort.  A  general  fast  being  therefore 
proclaimed,  and  a  solemn  procession  appointed 
for  the  25th  day  of  June,  while  the  people  as- 
sembled in  the  church  interceded  with  God  in 
fervent  prayers  for  the  desired  boon,  they  beheld, 
with  as  much  amazement  as  joy,  a  slight  shaking 
in  the  marbles  of  a  pillar  (near  the  place  where 
the  altar  of  the  Cross  is  now),  which,  presently 
falling  to  the  earth,  exposed  to  the  view  of  the 
rejoicing  people  the  chest  of  bronze  in  which  the 
body  of  the  Evangelist  was  laid." 

§  VIIL  Of  the  main  facts  of  this  tale  there  is 
no  doubt.  They  were  embellished  afterwards, 
as  usual,  by  many  fanciful  traditions;  as,  for 
instance,  that,  when  the  sarcophagus  was  dis- 
covered, St.  Mark  extended  his  hand  out  of  it, 
with  a  gold  ring  on  one  of  the  fingers,  which  he 
permitted  a  noble  of  the  Dolfin  family  to  remove; 
and  a  quaint  and  delightful  story  was  further 
invented  of  this  ring,  which  I  shall  not  repeat 
here,  as  it  is  now  as  well  known  as  any  tale  of 
the  Arabian  Nights.  But  the  fast  and  the  dis- 
covery of  the  coffin,  by  whatever  means  effected, 
are  facts;  and  they  are  recorded  in  one  of  the 


102  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

best-preserved  mosaics  of  the  north  transept, 
executed  very  certainly  not  long  after  the  event 
had  taken  place,  closely  resembling  in  its  treat- 
ment that  of  the  Bayeux  tapestry,  and  showing, 
in  a  conventional  manner,  the  interior  of  the 
church,  as  it  then  was,  filled  by  the  people,  first 
in  prayer,  then  in  thanksgiving,  the  pillar  stand- 
ing open  before  them,  and  the  Doge,  in  the 
midst  of  them,  distinguished  by  his  crimson 
bonnet  embroidered  with  gold,  but  more  unmis- 
takably by  the  inscription  "  Dux"  over  his  head, 
as  uniformly  is  the  case  in  the  Bayeux  tapestry, 
and  most  other  pictorial  works  of  the  period. 
The  church  is,  of  course,  rudely  represented,  and 
the  two  upper  stories  of  it  reduced  to  a  small 
scale  in  order  to  form  a  background  to  the  fig- 
ures; one  of  those  bold  pieces  of  picture  history 
which  we  in  our  pride  of  perspective,  and  a 
thousand  things  besides,  never  dare  attempt. 
We  should  have  put  in  a  column  or  two  of  the 
real  or  perspective  size,  and  subdued  it  into  a 
vague  background:  the  old  workman  crushed 
the  church  together  that  he  might  get  it  all  in, 
up  to  the  cupolas;  and  has,  therefore,  left  us 
some  useful  notes  of  its  ancient  form,  though 
any  one  who  is  familiar  with  the  method  of 
drawing  employed  at  the  period  will  not  push 
the  evidence  too  far.  The  two  pulpits  are  there, 
however,  as  they  are  at  this  day,  and  the  fringe 


ST.    MARK'S.  103 

of  mosaic  flowerwork  which  then  encompassed 
the  whole  church,  but  which  modern  restorers 
have  destroyed,  all  but  one  fragment  still  left  in 
the  south  aisle.  There  is  no  attempt  to  repre- 
sent the  other  mosaics  on  the  roof,  the  scale 
being  too  small  to  admit  of  their  being  repre- 
sented with  any  success;  but  some  at  least  of 
those  mosaics  had  been  executed  at  that  period, 
and  their  absence  in  the  representation  of  the 
entire  church  is  especially  to  be  observed,  in 
order  to  show  that  we  must  not  trust  to  any 
negative  evidence  in  such  works.  M.  Lazari  has 
rashly  concluded  that  the  central  archivolt  of 
St.  Mark's  must  be  posterior  to  the  year  1205, 
because  it  does  not  appear  in  the  representation 
of  the  exterior  of  the  church  over  the  northern 
door;*  but  he  justly  observes  that  this  mosaic 
(which  is  the  other  piece  of  evidence  we  possess 
respecting  the  ancient  form  of  the  building)  can- 
not itself  be  earlier  than  1205,  since  it  represents 
the  bronze  horses  which  were  brought  from  Con- 
stantinople in  that  year.  And  this  one  fact  ren- 
ders it  very  difficult  to  speak  with  confidence 
respecting  the  date  of  any  part  of  the  exterior 
of  St.  Mark's;  for  we  have  above  seen  that  it 
was  consecrated  in  the  eleventh  century,  and  yet 
here  is  one  of  the  most  important  exterior  deco- 

*Guida  di  Venezia,  p.  6.     (He  is  right,  however.) 


IO4  THE  STONES  OF    VENICE. 

rations  assuredly  retouched,  if  not  entirely  added, 
in  the  thirteenth,  although  its  style  would  have 
led  us  to  suppose  it  had  been  an  original  part  of 
the  fabric.  However,  for  all  our  purposes,  it 
will  be  enough  for  the  reader  to  remember  that 
the  earliest  parts  of  the  building  belong  to  the 
eleventh,  twelfth,  and  first  part  of  the  thirteenth 
century;  the  Gothic  portions  to  the  fourteenth; 
some  of  the  altars  and  embellishments  to  the 
fifteenth  and  sixteenth;  and  the  modern  portion 
of  the  mosaics  to  the  seventeenth. 

§  ix.  This,  however,  I  only  wish  him  to  recol- 
lect in  order  that  I  may  speak  generally  of  the 
Byzantine  architecture  of  St.  Mark's,  without 
leading  him  to  suppose  the  whole  church  to 
have  been  built  and  decorated  by  Greek  artists. 
Its  later  portions,  with  the  single  exception  of 
the  seventeenth  century  mosaics,  have  been  so 
dexterously  accommodated  to  the  original  fabric 
that  the  general  effect  is  still  that  of  a  Byzantine 
building;  and  I  shall  not,  except  when  it  is  abso- 
lutely necessary,  direct  attention  to  the  discord- 
ant points,  or  weary  the  reader  with  anatomical 
criticism.  Whatever  in  St.  Mark's  arrests  the 
eye,  or  affects  the  feelings,  is  either  Byzantine, 
or  has  been  modified  by  Byzantine  influence; 
and  our  inquiry  into  its  architectural  merits  need 
not  therefore  be  disturbed  by  the  anxieties  of 


ST.   MARK'S.  10$ 

antiquarianism,  or  arrested  by  the  obscurities  of 
chronology. 

§  x.  And  now  I  wish  that  the  reader,  before  I 
bring  him  into  St.  Mark's  Place,  would  imagine 
himself  for  a  little  time  in  a  quiet  English  cathe- 
dral town,  and  walk  with  me  to  the  west  front  of 
its  cathedral.  Let  us  go  together  up  the  more 
retired  street,  at  the  end  of  which  we  can  see  the 
pinnacles  of  one  of  the  towers,  and  then  through 
the  low  gray  gateway,  with  its  battlemented  top 
and  small  latticed  window  in  the  centre,  into 
the  inner  private-looking  road  or  close,  where 
nothing  goes  in  but  the  carts  of  the  tradesmen 
who  supply  the  bishop  and  the  chapter,  and 
where  there  are  little  shaven  grass-plots,  fenced 
in  by  neat  rails,  before  old-fashioned  groups  of 
somewhat  diminutive  and  excessively  trim  houses, 
with  little  oriel  and  bay  windows  jutting  out  here 
and  there,  and  deep  wooden  cornices  and  eaves 
painted  cream  color  and  white,  and  small  porches 
to  their  doors  in  the  shape  of  cockle-shells,  or 
little,  crooked,  thick,  indescribable  wooden  gables 
warped  a  little  on  one  side;  and  so  forward  till 
we  come  to  larger  houses,  also  old-fashioned, 
but  of  red  brick,  and  with  gardens  behind  them, 
and  fruit  walls,  which  show  here  and  there, 
among  the  nectarines,  the  vestiges  of  an  old 
cloister  arch  or  shaft,  and  looking  in  front  on 
the  cathedral  square  itself,  laid  out  in  rigid  di- 


IO6  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

visions  of  smooth  grass  and  gravel  walk,  yet  not 
uncheerful,  especially  on  the  sunny  side  where 
the  canons'  children  are  walking  with  their 
nurserymaids.  And  so,  taking  care  not  to  tread 
on  the  grass,  we  will  go  along  the  straight  walk 
to  the  west  front,  and  there  stand  for  a  time, 
looking  up  at  its  deep-pointed  porches  and  the 
dark  places  between  their  pillars  where  there 
were  statues  once,  and  where  the  fragments, 
here  and  there,  of  a  stately  figure  are  still  left, 
which  has  in  it  the  likeness  of  a  king,  perhaps 
indeed  a  king  on  earth,  perhaps  a  saintly  king 
long  ago  in  heaven ;  and  so  higher  and  higher  up 
to  the  great  mouldering  wall  of  rugged  sculpture 
and  confused  arcades,  shattered,  and  gray,  and 
grisly  with  heads  of  dragons  and  mocking  fiends, 
worn  by  the  rain  and  swirling  winds  into  yet  un- 
seemlier  shape,  and  colored  on  their  stony  scales 
by  the  deep  russet-orange  lichen,  melancholy 
gold;  and  so,  higher  still,  to  the  bleak  towers,  so 
far  above  that  the  eye  loses  itself  among  the 
bosses  of  their  traceries,  though  they  are  rude 
and  strong,  and  only  sees  like  a  drift  of  eddying 
black  points,  now  closing,  now  scattering,  and 
now  settling  suddenly  into  invisible  places  among 
the  bosses  and  flowers,  the  crowd  of  restless 
birds  that  fill  the  whole  square  with  that  strange 
clangor  of  theirs,  so  harsh  and  yet  so  soothing, 


S7\    MARK'S.  lO/ 

like  the  cries  of  birds  on  a  solitary  coast  between 
the  cliffs  and  sea. 

§  xi.  Think  for  a  little  while  of  that  scene, 
and  the  meaning  of  all  its  small  formalisms, 
mixed  with  its  serene  sublimity.  Estimate  its 
secluded,  continuous,  drowsy  felicities,  and  its 
evidence  of  the  sense  and  steady  performance 
of  such  kind  of  duties  as  can  be  regulated  by 
the  cathedral  clock;  and  weigh  the  influence  of 
those  dark  towers  on  all  who  have  passed  through 
the  lonely  square  at  their  feet  for  centuries,  and 
on  all  who  have  seen  them  rising  far  away  over 
the  wooded  plain,  or  catching  on  their  square 
masses  the  last  rays  of  the  sunset,  when  the  city 
at  their  feet  was  indicated  only  by  the  mist  at 
the  bend  of  the  river.  And  then  let  us  quickly 
recollect  that  we  are  in  Venice,  and  land  at  the 
extremity  of  the  Calle  Lunga  San  Moise,  which 
may  be  considered  as  there  answering  to  the 
secluded  street  that  led  us  to  our  English  cathe- 
dral gateway. 

§  xii.  We  find  ourselves  in  a  paved  alley,  some 
seven  feet  wide  where  it  is  widest,  full  of  people, 
and  resonant  with  cries  of  itinerant  salesmen, — 
a  shriek  in  their  beginning,  and  dying  away  into 
a  kind  of  brazen  ringing,  all  the  worse  for  its 
confinement  between  the  high  houses  of  the  pas- 
sage along  which  we  have  to  make  our  way. 
Over  head  an  inextricable  confusion  of  rugged 


IO8  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

shutters,  and  iron  balconies  and  chimney  flues 
pushed  out  on  brackets  to  save  room,  and  arched 
windows  with  projecting  sills  of  Istrian  stone, 
and  gleams  of  green  leaves  here  and  there  where 
a  fig-tree  branch  escapes  over  a  lower  wall  from 
some  inner  cortile,  leading  the  eye  up  to  the 
narrow  stream  of  blue  sky  high  over  all.  On 
each  side,  a  row  of  shops,  as  densely  set  as  may 
be,  occupying,  in  fact,  intervals  between  the 
square  stone  shafts,  about  eight  feet  high,  which 
carry  the  first  floors:  intervals  of  which  one  is 
narrow  and  serves  as  a  door;  the  other  is,  in  the 
more  respectable  shops,  wainscoted  to  the  height 
of  the  counter  and  glazed  above,  but  in  those  of 
the  poorer  tradesmen  left  open  to  the  ground, 
and  the  wares  laid  on  benches  and  tables  in  the 
open  air,  the  light  in  all  cases  entering  at  the 
front  only,  and  fading  away  in  a  few  feet  from 
the  threshold  into  a  gloom  which  the  eye  from 
without  cannot  penetrate,  but  which  is  generally 
broken  by  a  ray  or  two  from  a  feeble  lamp  at 
the  back  of  the  shop,  suspended  before  a  print  of 
the  Virgin.  The  less  pious  shop-keeper  some- 
times leaves  his  lamp  unlighted,  and  is  contented 
with  a  penny  print;  the  more  religious  one  has 
his  print  colored  and  set  in  a  little  shrine  with  a 
gilded  or  figured  fringe,  with  perhaps  a  faded 
flower  or  two  on  each  side,  and  his  lamp  burn- 
ing brilliantly.  Here  at  the  fruiterer's,  where 


ST.   MARK'S.  109 

the  dark-green  watermelons  are  heaped  upon 
the  counter  like  cannon  balls,  the  Madonna  has 
a  tabernacle  of  fresh  laurel  leaves;  but  the  pew- 
terer  next  door  has  let  his  lamp  out,  and  there 
is  nothing  to  be  seen  in  his  shop  but  the  dull 
gleam  of  the  studded  patterns  on  the  copper 
pans,  hanging  from  his  roof  in  the  darkness. 
Next  comes  a  "Vendita  Frittole  e  Liquori," 
where  the  Virgin,  enthroned  in  a  very  humble 
manner  beside  a  tallow  candle  on  a  back  shelf, 
presides  over  certain  ambrosial  morsels  of  a  nat- 
ure too  ambiguous  to  be  defined  or  enumerated. 
But  a  few  steps  farther  on,  at  the  regular  wine- 
shop of  the  calle,  where  we  are  offered  "Vino 
Nostrani  a  Soldi  28*3 2,"  the  Madonna  is  in  great 
glory,  enthroned  above  ten  or  a  dozen  large  red 
casks  of  three-year-old  vintage,  and  flanked  by 
goodly  ranks  of  bottles  of  Maraschino,  and  two 
crimson  lamps;  and  for  the  evening,  when  the 
gondoliers  will  come  to  drink  out,  under  her 
auspices,  the  money  they  have  gained  during  the 
day,  she  will  have  a  whole  chandelier. 

§  xin.  A  yard  or  two  farther,  we  pass  the 
hostelry  of  the  Black  Eagle,  and,  glancing  as  we 
pass  through  the  square  door  of  marble,  deeply 
moulded,  in  the  outer  wall,  we  see  the  shadows 
of  its  pergola  of  vines  resting  on  an  ancient  well, 
with  a  pointed  shield  carved  on  its  side;  and  so 
presently  emerge  on  the  bridge  and  Campo  San 


1 10  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

Moise,  whence  to  the  entrance  into  St.  Mark's 
Place,  called  the  Bocca  di  Piazza  (mouth  of  the 
square),  the  Venetian  character  is  nearly  de- 
stroyed, first  by  the  frightful  fa9ade  of  San 
Moise,  which  we  will  pause  at  another  time  to 
examine,  and  then  by  the  modernizing  of  the 
shops  as  they  near  the  piazza,  and  the  mingling 
with  the  lower  Venetian  populace  of  lounging 
groups  of  English  and  Austrians.  We  will  push 
fast  through  them  into  the  shadow  of  the  pillars 
at  the  end  of  the  "  Bocca  di  Piazza,"  and  then 
we  forget  them  all;  for  between  those  pillars 
there  opens  a  great  light,  and,  in  the  midst  of  it, 
as  we  advance  slowly,  the  vast  tower  of  St.  Mark 
seems  to  lift  itself  visibly  forth  from  the  level 
field  of  chequered  stones;  and,  on  each  side,  the 
countless  arches  prolong  themselves  into  ranged 
symmetry,  as  if  the  rugged  and  irregular  houses 
that  pressed  together  above  us  in  the  dark  alley 
had  been  struck  back  into  sudden  obedience  and 
lovely  order,  and  all  their  rude  casements  and 
broken  walls  had  been  transformed  into  arches 
charged  with  goodly  sculpture,  and  fluted  shafts 
of  delicate  stone. 

§  xiv.  And  well  may  they  fall  back,  for  be- 
yond those  troops  of  ordered  arches  there  rises 
a  vision  out  of  the  earth,  and  all  the  great  square 
seems  to  have  opened  from  it  in  a  kind  of  awe, 
that  we  may  see  it  far  away; — a  multitude  of  pil- 


ST.    MARK'S.  Ill 

lars  and  white  domes,  clustered  into  a  long  low 
pyramid  of  colored  light;  a  treasure-heap,  it 
seems,  partly  of  gold,  and  partly  of  opal  and 
mother-of-pearl,  hollowed  beneath  into  five  great 
vaulted  porches,  ceiled  with  fair  mosaic,  and  beset 
with  sculpture  of  alabaster,  clear  as  amber  and 
delicate  as  ivory, — sculpture  fantastic  and  in- 
volved, of  palm  leaves  and  lilies,  and  grapes  and 
pomegranates,  and  birds  clinging  and  fluttering 
among  the  branches,  all  twined  together  into  an 
endless  network  of  buds  and  plumes;  and,  in  the 
midst  of  it,  the  solemn  forms  of  angels,  sceptred, 
and  robed  to  the  feet,  and  leaning  to  each  other 
across  the  gates,  their  figures  indistinct  among 
the  gleaming  of  the  golden  ground  through  the 
leaves  beside  them,  interrupted  and  dim,  like 
the  morning  light  as  it  faded  back  among  the 
branches  of  Eden,  when  first  its  gates  were  angel- 
guarded  long  ago.  And  round  the  walls  of  the 
porches  there  are  set  pillars  of  variegated  stones^ 
jasper  and  porphyry,  and  deep-green  serpentine 
spotted  with  flakes  of  snow,  and  marbles,  that 
half  refuse  and  half  yield  to  the  sunshine,  Cleo- 
patra-like, "their  bluest  veins  to  kiss" — the 
shadow,  as  it  steals  back  from  them,  revealing  line 
after  line  of  azure  undulation,  as  a  receding  tide 
leaves  the  waved  sand;  their  capitals  rich  with 
interwoven  tracery,  rooted  knots  of  herbage,  and 
drifting  leaves  of  acanthus  and  vine,  and  mystical 


112  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

signs,  all  beginning  and  ending  in  the  Cross;  and 
above  them,  in  the  broad  archivolts,  a  continu- 
ous chain  of  language  and  of  life — angels,  and 
the  signs  of  heaven,  and  the  labors  of  men,  each 
in  its  appointed  season  upon  the  earth;  and 
above  these,  another  range  of  glittering  pinna- 
cles, mixed  with  white  arches  edged  with  scarlet 
flowers, — a  confusion  of  delight,  amidst  which 
the  breasts  of  the  Greek  horses  are  seen  blazing 
in  their  breadth  of  golden  strength,  and  the  St. 
Mark's  Lion,  lifted  on  a  blue  field  covered  with 
stars,  until  at  last,  as  if  in  ecstasy,  the  crests  of 
the  arches  break  into  a  marble  foam,  and  toss 
themselves  far  into  the  blue  sky  in  flashes  and 
wreaths  of  sculptured  spray,  as  if  the  breakers 
on  the  Lido  shore  had  been  frost-bound  before 
they  fell,  and  the  sea-nymphs  had  inlaid  them 
with  coral  and  amethyst. 

Between  that  grim  cathedral  of  England  and 
this,  what  an  interval!  There  is  a  type  of  it  in 
the  very  birds  that  haunt  them;  for,  instead  of 
the  restless  crowd,  hoarse-voiced  and  sable- 
winged,  drifting  on  the  bleak  upper  air,  the  St. 
Mark's  porches  are  full  of  doves,  that  nestle 
among  [the  marble  foliage,  and  mingle  the  soft 
iridescence  of  their  living  plumes,  changing  at 
every  motion,  with  the  tints,  hardly  less  lovely, 
that  have  stood  unchanged  for  seven  hundred 
years. 


ST.   MARK'S. 


§  xv.  And  what  effect  has  this  splendor  on 
those  who  pass  beneath  it?  You  may  walk  from 
sunrise  to  sunset,  to  and  fro,  before  the  gateway 
of  St.  Mark's,  and  you  will  not  see  an  eye  lifted 
to  it,  nor  a  countenance  brightened  by  it.  Priest 
and  layman,  soldier  and  civilian,  rich  and  poor, 
pass  by  it  alike  regardlessly.  Up  to  the  very 
recesses  of  the  porches,  the  meanest  tradesmen 
of  the  city  push  their  counters;  nay,  the  founda- 
tions of  its  pillars  are  themselves  the  seats  —  not 
"  of  them  that  sell  doves"  for  sacrifice,  but  of 
the  vendors  of  toys  and  caricatures.  Round  the 
whole  square  in  front  of  the  church  there  is 
almost  a  continuous  line  of  cafes,  where  the  idle 
Venetians  of  the  middle  classes  lounge,  and  read 
empty  journals;  in  its  centre  the  Austrian  bands 
play  during  the  time  of  vespers,  their  martial 
music  jarring  with  the  organ  notes,  —  the  march 
drowning  the  miserere,  and  the  sullen  crowd 
thickening  round  them,  —  a  crowd,  which,  if  it 
had  its  will,  would  stiletto  every  soldier  that 
pipes  to  it.  And  in  the  recesses  of  the  porches, 
all  day  long,  knots  of  men  of  the  lowest  classes, 
unemployed  and  listless,  lie  basking  in  the  sun 
like  lizards;  and  unregarded  children,  —  every 
heavy  glance  of  their  young  eyes  full  of  desper- 
ation and  stony  depravity,  and  their  throats 
hoarse  with  cursing,  —  gamble,  and  fight,  and 
snarl,  and  sleep,  hour  after  hour,  clashing  their 


114  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

bruised  centesimi  upon  the  marble  ledges  of  the 
church  porch.  And  the  images  of  Christ  and 
His  angels  look  down  upon  it  continually. 

That  we  may  not  enter  the  church  out  of  the 
midst  of  the  horror  of  this,  let  us  turn  aside 
under  the  portico  which  looks  towards  the  sea, 
and  passing  round  within  the  two  massive  pillars 
brought  from  St.  Jean  d'Acre,  we  shall  find  the 
gate  of  the  Baptistery;  let  us  enter  there.  The 
heavy  door  closes  behind  us  instantly,  and  the 
light,  and  the  turbulence  of  the  Piazzetta,  are 
together  shut  out  by  it. 

§  xvi.  We  are  in  a  low  vaulted  room;  vaulted, 
not  with  arches,  but  with  small  cupolas  starred 
with  gold,  and  chequered  with  gloomy  figures: 
in  the  centre  is  a  bronze  font  charged  with 
rich  bas-reliefs,  a  small  figure  of  the  Baptist 
standing  above  it  in  a  single  ray  of  light  that 
glances  across  the  narrow  room,  dying  as  it  falls 
from  a  window  high  in  the  wall,  and  the  first 
thing  that  it  strikes,  and  the  only  thing  that  it 
strikes  brightly,  is  a  tomb.  We  hardly  know  if 
it  be  a  tomb  indeed;  for  it  is  like  a  narrow  couch 
set  beside  the  window,  low-roofed  and  cur- 
tained, so  that  it  might  seem,  but  that  it  has 
some  height  above  the  pavement,  to  have  been 
drawn  towards  the  window,  that  the  sleeper 
might  be  wakened  early; — only  there  are  two 
angels  who  have  drawn  the  curtain  back,  and 


ST.    MARK'S.  115 

are  looking  down  upon  him.  Let  us  look  also? 
and  thank  that  gentle  light  that  rests  upon  his 
forehead  for  ever,  and  dies  away  upon  his  breast. 

The  face  is  of  a  man  in  middle  life,  but  there 
are  two  deep  furrows  right  across  the  forehead, 
dividing  it  like  the  foundations  of  a  tower:  the 
height  of  it  above  is  bound  by  the  fillet  of  the 
ducal  cap.  The  rest  of  the  features  are  singu- 
larly small  and  delicate,  the  lips  sharp,  perhaps 
the  sharpness  of  death  being  added  to  that  of 
the  natural  lines;  but  there  is  a  sweet  smile 
upon  them,  and  a  deep  serenity  upon  the  whole 
countenance.  The  roof  of  the  canopy  above 
has  been  blue,  filled  with  stars;  beneath,  in  the 
centre  of  the  tomb  on  which  the  figure  rests, 
is  a  seated  figure  of  the  Virgin,  and  the  border 
of  it  all  around  is  of  flowers  and  soft  leaves,  grow- 
ing rich  and  deep,  as  if  in  a  field  in  summer. 

It  is  the  Doge  Andrea  Dandolo,  a  man  early 
great  among  the  great  of  Venice;  and  early 
lost.  She  chose  him  for  her  king  in  his  36th 
year;  he  died  ten  years  later,  leaving  behind 
him  that  history  to  which  we  owe  half  of  what 
we  know  of  her  former  fortunes. 

§  xvn.  Look  round  at  the  room  in  which  he 
lies.  The  floor  of  it  is  of  rich  mosaic,  encom- 
passed by  a  low  seat  of  red  marble,  and  its  walls 
are  of  alabaster,  but  worn  and  shattered,  and 
darkly  stained  with  age,  almost  a  ruin, — in  places 


Il6  THE    S7^0NES  OF    VENICE. 

the  slabs  of  marble  have  fallen  away  altogether, 
and  the  rugged  brickwork  is  seen  through  the 
rents,  but  all  beautiful;  the  ravaging  fissures  fret- 
ting their  way  among  the  islands  and  channelled 
zones  of  the  alabaster,  and  the  time-stains  on  its 
translucent  masses  darkened  into  fields  of  rich 
golden  brown,  like  the  color  of  seaweed  when 
the  sun  strikes  on  it  through  deep  sea.  The 
light  fades  away  into  the  recess  of  the'chamber 
towards  the  altar,  and  the  eye  can  hardly  trace 
the  lines  of  the  bas-relief  behind  it  of  the  bap- 
tism of  Christ:  but  on  the  vaulting  of  the  roof 
the  figures  are  distinct,  and  there  are  seen  upon 
it  two  great  circles,  one  surrounded  by  the  "  Prin- 
cipalities and  powers  in  heavenly  places,"  of 
which  Milton  has  expressed  the  ancient  division 
in  the  single  massy  line, 

"Thrones,  Dominations,  Princedoms,  Virtues,  Powers," 

and  around  the  other,  the  Apostles;  Christ  the 
centre  of  both;  and  upon  the  walls,  again  and 
again  repeated,  the  gaunt  figure  of  the  Baptist, 
in  every  circumstance  of  his  life  and  death ; 
and  the  streams  of  the  Jordan  running  down 
between  their  cloven  rocks;  the  axe  laid  to  the 
root  of  a  fruitless  tree  that  springs  upon  their 
shore.  "  Every  tree  that  bringeth  not  forth  good 
fruit  shall  be  hewn  down,  and  cast  into  the  fire." 
Yes,  verily:  to  be  baptized  with  fire,  or  to  be 


ST.    MARK'S. 


cast  therein;  it  is  the  choice  set  before  all  men. 
The  march-notes  still  murmur  through  the  grated 
window,  and  mingle  with  the  sounding  in  our 
ears  of  the  sentence  of  judgment,  which  the 
old  Greek  has  written  on  that  Baptistery  wall. 
Venice  has  made  her  choice. 

§  xvin.  He  who  lies  under  that  stony  canopy 
would  have  taught  her  another  choice,  in  his  day, 
if  she  would  have  listened  to  him;  but  he  and 
his  counsels  have  long  been  forgotten  by  her, 
the  dust  lies  upon  his  lips. 

Through  the  heavy  door  whose  bronze  net- 
work closes  the  place  of  his  rest,  let  us  enter  the 
church  itself.  It  is  lost  in  still  deeper  twilight, 
to  which  the  eye  must  be  accustomed  for  some 
moments  before  the  form  of  the  building  can 
be  traced;  and  then  there  opens  before  us  a 
vast  cave,  hewn  out  into  the  form  of  a  Cross,  and 
divided  into  shadowy  aisles  by  many  pillars. 
Round  the  domes  of  its  roof  the  light  enters 
only  through  narrow  apertures  like  large  stars; 
and  here  and  there  a  ray  or  two  from  some  far 
away  casement  wanders  into  the  darkness,  and 
casts  a  narrow  phosphoric  stream  upon  the  waves 
of  marble  that  heave  and  fall  in  a  thousand 
colors  along  the  floor.  What  else  there  is  of 
light  is  from  torches,  or  silver  lamps,  burning 
ceaselessly  in  the  recesses  of  the  chapels;  the 
roof  sheeted  with  gold,  and  the  polished  walls 


Il8  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

covered  with  alabaster,  give  back  at  every  curve 
and  angle  some  feeble  gleaming  to  the  flames; 
and  the  glories  round  the  heads  of  the  sculptured 
saints  flash  out  upon  us  as  we  pass  them,  and 
sink  again  into  the  gloom.  Under  foot  and  over 
head,  a  continual  succession  of  crowded  imagery, 
one  picture  passing  into  another,  as  in  a  dream; 
forms  beautiful  and  terrible  mixed  together;  drag- 
ons and  serpents,  and  ravening  beasts  of  prey, 
and  graceful  birds  that  in  the  midst  of  them 
drink  from  running  fountains  and  feed  from  vases 
of  crystal;  the  passions  and  the  pleasures  of  hu- 
man life  symbolized  together,  and  the  mystery 
of  its  redemption;  for  the  mazes  of  interwoven 
lines  and  changeful  pictures  lead  always  at  last 
to  the  Cross,  lifted  and  carved  in  every  place  and 
upon  every  stonel  sometimes  with  the  serpent  of 
eternity  wrapt  round  it,  sometimes  with  doves  be- 
neath its  arms,  and  sweet  herbage  growing  forth 
from  its  feet;  but  conspicuous  most  of  all  on 
the  great  rood  that  crosses  the  church  before 
the  altar,  raised  in  bright  blazonry  against  the 
shadow  of  the  apse.  And  although  in  the  re- 
cesses of  the  aisles  and  chapels,  when  the  mist 
of  the  incense  hangs  heavily,  we  may  see  con- 
tinually a  figure  traced  in  faint  lines  upon  their 
marble,  a  woman  standing  with  her  eyes  raised  to 
heaven,  and  the  inscription  above  her,  "  Mother 
of  God,"  she  is  not  here  the  presiding  deity.  It 


ST.  MARK'S.  119 

is  the  Cross  that  is  first  seen,  and  always,  burn- 
ing in  the  centre  of  the  temple ;  and  every  dome 
and  hollow  of  its  roof  has  the  figure  of  Christ 
in  the  utmost  height  of  it,  raised  in  power,  or 
returning  in  judgment. 

§  xix.  Nor  is  this  interior  without  effect  on 
the  minds  of  the  people.  At  every  hour  of  the 
day  there  are  groups  collected  before  the  vari- 
ous shrines,  and  solitary  worshippers  scattered 
through  the  dark  places  of  the  church,  evidently 
in  prayer  both  deep  and  reverent,  and,  for  the 
most  part,  profoundly  sorrowful.  The  devotees 
at  the  greater  number  of  the  renowned  shrines 
of  Romanism  may  be  seen  murmuring  their  ap- 
pointed prayers  with  wandering  eyes  and  unen- 
gaged gestures;  but  the  step  of  the  stranger  does 
not  disturb  those  who  kneel  on  the  pavement  of 
St.  Mark's;  and  hardly  a  moment  passes,  from 
early  morning  to  sunset,  in  which  we  may  not 
see  some  half-veiled  figure  enter  beneath  the 
Arabian  porch,  cast  itself  into  long  abasement 
on  the  floor  of  the  temple,  and  then  rising  slowly 
with  more  confirmed  step,  and  with  a  passionate 
kiss  and  clasp  of  the  arms  given  to  the  feet  of 
the  crucifix,  by  which  the  lamps  burn  always  in 
the  northern  aisle,  leave  the  church,  as  if  com- 
forted. 

§  xx.  But  we  must  not  hastily  conclude  from 
this  that  the  nobler  characters  of  the  building 


120  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

have  at  present  any  influence  in  fostering  a  devo- 
tional spirit.  There  is  distress  enough  in  Venice 
to  bring  many  to  their  knees,  without  excite- 
ment from  external  imagery ;  and  whatever  there 
may  be  in  the  temper  of  the  worship  offered  in 
St.  Mark's  more  than  can  be  accounted  for  by 
reference  to  the  unhappy  circumstances  of  the 
city,  is  assuredly  not  owing  either  to  the  beauty 
of  its  architecture  or  to  the  impressiveness  of 
the  Scripture  histories  embodied  in  its  mosaics. 
That  it  has  a  peculiar  effect,  however  slight,  on 
the  popular  mind,  may  perhaps  be  safely  con- 
jectured from  the  number  of  worshippers  which 
it  attracts,  while  the  churches  of  St.  Paul  and 
the  Frari,  larger  in  size  and  more  central  in 
position,  are  left  comparatively  empty.*  But 
this  effect  is  altogether  to  be  ascribed  to  its 
richer  assemblage  of  those  sources  of  influence 
which  address  themselves  to  the  commonest  in- 
stincts of  the  human  mind,  and  which,  in  all 
ages  and  countries,  have  been  more  or  less  em- 
ployed in  the  support  of  superstition.  Darkness 
and  mystery;  confused  recesses  of  building; 
artificial  light  employed  in  small  quantity,  but 

*  The  mere  warmth  of  St.  Mark's  in  winter,  which  is 
much  greater  than  that  of  the  other  two  churches  above 
named,  must,  however,  be  taken  into  consideration,  as 
one  of  the  most  efficient  causes  of  its  being  then  more 
frequented. 


ST.   MARK'S.  121 

maintained  with  a  constancy  which  seems  to 
give  it  a  kind  of  sacredness;  preciousness  of  ma- 
terial easily  comprehended  by  the  vulgar  eye; 
close  air  loaded  with  a  sweet  and  peculiar  odor 
associated  only  with  religious  services,  solemn 
music,  and  tangible  idols  or  images  having  popu- 
lar legends  attached  to  them, — these,  the  stage 
properties  of  superstition,  which  have  been  from 
the  beginning  of  the  world,  and  must  be  to  the 
end  of  it,  employed  by  all  nations,  whether 
openly  savage  or  nominally  civilized,  to  produce 
a  false  awe  in  minds  incapable  of  apprehending 
the  true  nature  of  the  Deity,  are  assembled  in 
St.  Mark's  to  a  degree,  as  far  as  I  know,  unex- 
ampled in  any  other  European  church.  The 
arts  of  the  Magus  and  the  Brahmin  are  exhaust- 
ed in  the  animation  of  a  paralyzed  Christianity; 
and  the  popular  sentiment  which  these  arts  ex- 
cite is  to  be  regarded  by  us  with  no  more  re- 
spect than  we  should  have  considered  ourselves 
justified  in  rendering  to  the  devotion  of  the 
worshippers  at  Eleusis,  Ellora,  or  Edfou.* 

*  I  said  above  that  the  larger  number  of  the  devotees 
entered  by  the  "  Arabian"  porch;  the  porch,  that  is  to 
say,  on  the  north  side  of  the  church,  remarkable  for  its 
rich  Arabian  archivolt,  and  through  which  access  is 
gained  immediately  to  the  northern  transept.  The  rea- 
son is,  that  in  that  transept  is  the  chapel  of  the  Madonna, 
which  has  a  greater  attraction  for  the  Venetians  than  all 


122  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

§  xxi.  Indeed,  these  inferior  means  of  excit- 
ing religious  emotion  were  employed  in  the  an- 
cient Church  as  they  are  at  this  day,  but  not 
employed  alone.  Torchlight  there  was,  as  there 
is  now;  but  the  torchlight  illumined  Scripture 
histories  on  the  walls,  which  every  eye  traced 
and  every  heart  comprehended,  but  which,  dur- 
ing my  whole  residence  in  Venice,  I  never  saw 
one  Venetian  regard  for  an  instant.  I  never 
heard  from  any  one  the  most  languid  expression 
of  interest  in  any  feature  of  the  church,  or  per- 
ceived the  slightest  evidence  of  their  under- 
standing the  meaning  of  its  architecture;  and 
while,  therefore,  the  English  cathedral,  though 
no  longer  dedicated  to  the  kind  of  services  for 
which  it  was  intended  by  its  builders,  and  much 
at  variance  in  many  of  its  characters  with  the 
temper  of  the  people  by  whom  it  is  now  sur- 
rounded, retains  yet  so  much  of  its  religious  in- 
fluence that  no  prominent  feature  of  its  archi- 
tecture can  be  said  to  exist  altogether  in  vain, 
we  have  in  St.  Mark's  a  building  apparently  still 
employed  in  the  ceremonies  for  which  it  was 

the  rest  of  the  church  besides.  The  old  builders  kept 
their  images  of  the  Virgin  subordinate  to  those  of  Christ; 
but  modern  Romanism  has  retrograded  from  theirs,  and 
the  most  glittering  portions  of  the  whole  church  are  the 
two  recesses  behind  this  lateral  altar,  covered  with  silver 
hearts  dedicated  to  the  Virgin. 


ST.    MARK'S.  12$ 

designed,  and  yet  of  which  the  impressive  at- 
tributes have  altogether  ceased  to  be  compre- 
hended by  its  votaries.  The  beauty  which  it 
possesses  is  unfelt,  the  language  it  uses  is  for- 
gotten; and  in  the  midst  of  the  city  to  whose 
service  it  has  so  long  been  consecrated,  and  still 
filled  by  crowds  of  the  descendants  of  those  to 
whom  it  owes  its  magnificence;  it  stands,  in 
reality,  more  desolate  than  the  ruins  through 
which  the  sheep-walk  passes  unbroken  in  our 
English  valleys;  and  the  writing  on  its  marble 
walls  is  less  regarded  and  less  powerful  for  the 
teaching  of  men,  than  the  letters  which  the 
shepherd  follows  with  his  finger,  where  the  moss 
is  lightest  on  the  tombs  in  the  desecrated  cloister. 

§  xxn.  It  must  therefore  be  altogether  with- 
out reference  to  its  present  usefulness,  that  we 
pursue  our  inquiry  into  the  merits  and  meaning 
of  the  architecture  of  this  marvellous  building; 
and  it  can  only  be  after  we  have  terminated 
that  inquiry,  conducting  it  carefully  on  abstract 
grounds,  that  we  can  pronounce  with  any  cer- 
tainty how  far  the  present  neglect  of  St.  Mark's 
is  significative  of  the  decline  of  the  Venetian 
character,  or  how  far  this  church  is  to  be  con- 
sidered as  the  relic  of  a  barbarous  age,  incapa- 
ble of  attracting  the  admiration,  or  influencing 
the  feelings  of  a  civilized  community. 

The  inquiry  before  us  is  twofold.     Through- 


124  THE    STONES   OF    VENICE. 

out  the  first  volume,  I  carefully  kept  the  study 
of  expression  distinct  from  that  of  abstract  archi- 
tectural perfection;  telling  the  reader  that  in 
every  building  we  should  afterwards  examine, 
he  would  have  first  to  form  a  judgment  of  its 
construction  and  decorative  merit,  considering 
it  merely  as  a  work  of  art;  and  then  to  examine 
farther,  in  what  degree  it  fulfilled  its  expressional 
purposes.  Accordingly,  we  have  first  to  judge 
of  St.  Mark's  merely  as  a  piece  of  architecture, 
not  as  a  church;  secondly,  to  estimate  its  fitness 
for  its  special  duty  as  a  place  of  worship,  and 
the  relation  in  which  it  stands,  as  such,  to  those 
northern  cathedrals  that  still  retain  so  much  of 
the  power  over  the  human  heart,  which  the 
Byzantine  domes  appear  to  have  lost  for  ever. 

§  xxiu.  In  the  two  succeeding  sections  of 
this  work,  devoted  respectively  to  the  examina- 
tion of  the  Gothic  and  Renaissance  buildings  in 
Venice,  I  have  endeavored  to  analyze  and  state, 
as  briefly  as  possible,  the  true  nature  of  each 
school, — first  in  Spirit,  then  in  Form.  I  wished 
to  have  given  a  similar  analysis,  in  this  section, 
of  the  nature  of  Byzantine  architecture;  but" 
could  not  make  my  statements  general,  because 
I  have  never  seen  this  kind  of  building  on  its 
native  soil.  Nevertheless,  in  the  following  sketch 
of  the  principles  exemplified  in  St.  Mark's,  I  be- 
lieve that  most  of  the  leading  features  and  mo- 


ST.    MARK'S.  125 

tives  of  the  style  will  be  found  clearly  enough 
distinguished  to  enable  the  reader  to  judge  of 
it  with  tolerable  fairness,  as  compared  with  the 
better  known  systems  of  European  architecture 
in  the  middle  ages. 

§  xxiv.  Now  the  first  broad  characteristic  of 
the  building,  and  the  root  nearly  of  every  other 
important  peculiarity  in  it,  is  its  confessed  in- 
crustation. It  is  the  purest  example  in  Italy  of 
the  great  school  of  architecture  in  which  the 
ruling  principle  is  the  incrustation  of  brick  with 
more  precious  materials;  and  it  is  necessary 
before  we  proceed  to  criticise  any  one  of  its 
arrangements,  that  the  reader  should  carefully 
consider  the  principles  which  are  likely  to  have 
influenced,  or  might  legitimately  influence,  the 
architects  of  such  a  school,  as  distinguished 
from  those  whose  designs  are  to  be  executed  in 
massive  materials. 

It  is  true,  that  among  different  nations,  and 
at  different  times,  we  may  find  examples  of 
every  sort  and  degree  of  incrustation,  from  the 
mere  setting  of  the  larger  and  more  compact 
stones  by  preference  at  the  outside  of  the  wall, 
to  the  miserable  construction  of  that  modern 
brick  cornice,  with  its  coating  of  cement,  which, 
but  the  other  day,  in  London,  killed  its  unhappy 
workmen  in  its  fall.*  But  just  as  it  is  perfectly 
*  Vide  "  Builder,"  for  October,  1851. 


126  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

possible  to  have  a  clear  idea  of  the  opposing 
characteristics  of  two  different  species  of  plants 
or  animals,  though  between  the  two  there  are 
varieties  which  it  is  difficult  to  assign  either  to 
the  one  or  the  other,  so  the  reader  may  fix 
decisively  in  his  mind  the  legitimate  character- 
istics of  the  incrusted  and  the  massive  styles, 
though  between  the  two  there  are  varieties  which 
confessedly  unite  the  attributes  of  both.  For  in- 
stance, in  many  Roman  remains,  built  of  blocks 
of  tufa  and  incrusted  with  marble,  we  have  a  style, 
which,  though  truly  solid,  possesses  some  of  the 
attributes  of  incrustation;  and  in  the  Cathedral 
of  Florence,  built  of  brick  and  coated  with 
marble,  the  marble  facing  is  so  firmly  and  ex- 
quisitely set,  that  the  building,  though  in  reality 
Incrusted,  assumes  the  attributes  of  solidity. 
But  these  intermediate  examples  need  not  in 
the  least  confuse  our  generally  distinct  ideas  of 
the  two  families  of  buildings:  the  one  in  which 
the  substance  is  alike  throughout,  and  the  forms 
and  conditions  of  the  ornament  assume  or  prove 
that  it  is  so,  as  in  the  best  Greek  buildings,  and 
for  the  most  part  in  our  early  Norman  and 
Gothic;  and  the  other,  in  which  the  substance 
is  of  two  kinds,  one  internal,  the  other  external, 
and  the  system  of  decoration  is  founded  on  this 
duplicity,  as  pre-eminently  in  St.  Mark's. 

§   xxv.  I    have   used  the  word   duplicity   in 


ST.   MARK'S.  127 

no  depreciatory  sense.  In  chapter  ii.  of  the 
4t  Seven  Lamps,"  §  18,  I  especially  guarded  this 
incrusted  school  from  the  imputation  of  in- 
sincerity, and  I  must  do  so  now  at  greater 
length.  It  appears  insincere  at  first  to  a  North- 
ern builder,  because,  accustomed  to  build  with 
solid  blocks  of  freestone,  he  is  in  the  habit  of 
supposing  the  external  superficies  of  a  piece  of 
masonry  to  be  some  criterion  of  its  thickness. 
But,  as  soon  as  he  gets  acquainted  with  the  in- 
crusted  style,  he  will  find  that  the  Southern 
builders  had  no  intention  to  deceive  him.  He 
will  see  that  every  slab  of  facial  marble  is  fast- 
ened to  the  next  by  a  confessed  rivet,  and  that 
the  joints  of  the  armor  are  so  visibly  and  openly 
accommodated  to  the  contours  of  the  substance 
within,  that  he  has  no  more  right  to  complain 
of  treachery  than  a  savage  would  have,  who,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  seeing  a  man  in  armor, 
had  supposed  him  to  be  made  of  solid  steel. 
Acquaint  him  with  the  customs  of  chivalry, 
and  with  the  uses  of  the  coat  of  mail,  and  he 
ceases  to  accuse  of  dishonesty  either  the  panoply 
or  the  knight. 

These  laws  and  customs  of  the  St.  Mark's 
architectural  chivalry  it  must  be  our  business 
to  develop. 

§  xxvi.  First,  consider  the  natural  circum- 
stances which  give  rise  to  such  a  style.  Suppose 


128  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

a  nation  of  builders,  placed  far  from  any  quar- 
ries of  available  stone,  and  having  precarious 
access  to  the  mainland  where  they  exist;  com- 
pelled therefore  either  to  build  entirely  with 
brick,  or  to  import  whatever  stone  they  use 
from  great  distances,  in  ships  of  small  tonnage, 
and  for  the  most  part  dependent  for  speed  on 
the  oar  rather  than  the  sail.  The  labor  and 
cost  of  carriage  are  just  as  great,  whether  they 
import  common  or  precious  stone,  and  there- 
fore the  natural  tendency  would  always  be  to 
make  each  shipload  as  valuable  as  possible.  But 
in  proportion  to  the  preciousness  of  the  stone,, 
is  the  limitation  of  its  possible  supply;  limitation 
not  determined  merely  by  cost,  but  by  the  phys- 
ical conditions  of  the  material,  for  of  many 
marbles,  pieces  above  a  certain  size  are  not  to 
be  had  for  money.  There  would  also  be  a 
tendency  in  such  circumstances  to  import  as 
much  stone  as  possible  ready  sculptured,  in 
order  to  save  weight ;  and  therefore,  if  the  traffic 
of  their  merchants  led  them  to  places  where 
there  were  ruins  of  ancient  edifices,  to  ship  the 
available  fragments  of  them  home.  Out  of  this 
supply  of  marble,  partly  composed  of  pieces  of 
so  precious  a  quality  that  only  a  few  tons  of 
them  could  be  on  any  terms  obtained,  and  partly 
of  shafts,  capitals,  and  other  portions  of  foreign 
buildings,  the  island  architect  has  to  fashion,  as 


S7\    MARK'S.  129 

best  he  may,  the  anatomy  of  his  edifice.  It 
is  at  his  choice  either  to  lodge  his  few  blocks 
of  precious  marble  here  and  there  among  his 
masses  of  brick,  and  to  cut  out  of  the  sculpt- 
ured fragments  such  new  forms  as  may  be 
necessary  for  the  observance  of  fixed  propor- 
tions in  the  new  building;  or  else  to  cut  the 
colored  stones  into  thin  pieces,  of  extent  suffi- 
cient to  face  the  whole  surface  of  the  walls, 
and  to  adopt  a  method  of  construction  irregular 
enough  to  admit  the  insertion  of  fragmentary 
sculptures;  rather  with  a  view  of  displaying  their 
intrinsic  beauty,  than  of  setting  them  to  any 
regular  service  in  the  support  of  the  building. 

An  architect  who  cared  only  to  display  his 
own  skill,  and  had  no  respect  for  the  works  of 
others,  would  assuredly  have  chosen  the  former 
alternative,  and  would  have  sawn  the  old  mar- 
bles into  fragments  in  order  to  prevent  all  in- 
terference with  his  own  designs.  But  an  archi- 
tect who  cared  for  the  preservation  of  noble 
work,  whether  his  own  or  others',  and  more 
regarded  the  beauty  of  his  building  than  his 
own  fame,  would  have  done  what  those  old 
builders  of  St.  Mark's  did  for  us,  and  saved 
every  relic  with  which  he  was  entrusted. 

£  xxvn.  But  these  were  not  the  only  motives 
which  influenced  the  Venetians  in  the  adoption 
of  their  method  of  architecture.  It  might,  un- 


130  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

der  all  the  circumstances  above  stated,  have 
been  a  question  with  other  builders,  whether  to 
import  one  shipload  of  costly  jaspers,  or  twenty 
of  chalk  flints;  and  whether  to  build  a  small 
church  faced  with  porphyry  and  paved  with 
agate,  or  to  raise  a  vast  cathedral  in  freestone. 
But  with  the  Venetians  it  could  not  be  a  ques- 
tion for  an  instant;  they  were  exiles  from  an- 
cient and  beautiful  cities,  and  had  been  ac- 
customed to  build  with  their  ruins,  not  less  in 
affection  than  in  admiration:  they  had  thus  not 
only  grown  familiar  with  the  practice  of  insert- 
ing older  fragments  in  modern  buildings,  but 
they  owed  to  that  practice  a  great  part  of  the 
splendor  of  their  city,  and  whatever  charm  of 
association  might  aid  its  change  from  a  Refuge 
into  a  Home.  The  practice  which  began  in  the 
affections  of  a  fugitive  nation,  was  prolonged  in 
the  pride  of  a  conquering  one;  and  beside  the 
memorials  of  departed  happiness,  were  elevated 
the  trophies  of  returning  victory.  The  ship  of 
war  brought  home  more  marble  in  triumph  than 
the  merchant  vessel  in  speculation;  and  the 
front  of  St.  Mark's  became  rather  a  shrine  at 
which  to  dedicate  the  splendor  of  miscellaneous 
spoil,  than  the  organized  expression  of  any  fixed 
architectural  law,  or  religious  emotion. 

§  xxviii.  Thus  far,  however,  the  justification 
of  the  style  of  this  church  depends  on  circum- 


ST.   MARK'S.  131 

stances  peculiar  to  the  time  of  its  erection,  and 
to  the  spot  where  it  arose.  The  merit  of  its 
method,  considered  in  the  abstract,  rests  on  far 
broader  grounds. 

In  the  fifth  chapter  of  the  "  Seven  Lamps," 
§  14,  the  reader  will  find  the  opinion  of  a  modern 
architect  of  some  reputation,  Mr.  Wood,  that 
the  chief  thing  remarkable  in  this  church  "  is 
its  extreme  ugliness;"  and  he  will  find  this 
opinion  associated  with  another,  namely,  that 
the  works  of  the  Caracci  are  far  preferable  to 
those  of  the  Venetian  painters.  This  second 
statement  of  feeling  reveals  to  us  one  of  the 
principal  causes  of  the  first;  namely,  that  Mr. 
Wood  had  not  any  perception  of  color,  or  delight 
in  it.  The  perception  of  color  is  a  gift  just  as 
definitely  granted  to  one  person,  and  denied  to 
another,  as  an  ear  for  music;  and  the  very  first 
requisite  for  true  judgment  of  St.  Mark's,  is  the 
perfection  of  that  color-faculty  which  few  people 
ever  set  themselves  seriously  to  find  out  whether 
they  possess  or  not.  For  it  is  on  its  value  as  a 
piece  of  perfect  and  unchangeable  coloring,  that 
the  claims  of  this  edifice  to  our  respect  are  finally 
rested;  and  a  deaf  man  might  as  well  pretend 
to  pronounce  judgment  on  the  merits  of  a  full 
orchestra,  as  an  architect  trained  in  the  compo- 
sition of  form  only,  to  discern  the  beauty  of  St. 
Mark's.  It  possesses  the  charm  of  color  in  com- 


132  THE   STONES  OF   VENICE. 

mon  with  the  greater  part  of  the  architecture,  as 
well  as  of  the  manufactures,  of  the  East;  but  the 
Venetians  deserve  especial  note  as  the  only  Eu- 
ropean people  who  appear  to  have  sympathized 
to  the  full  with  the  great  instinct  of  the  Eastern 
races.  They  indeed  were  compelled  to  bring 
artists  from  Constantinople  to  design  the  mosaics 
of  the  vaults  of  St.  Mark's,  and  to  group  the 
colors  of  its  porches;  but  they  rapidly  took  up 
and  developed,  under  more  masculine  conditions, 
the  system  of  which  the  Greeks  had  shown  them 
the  rexample:  while  the  burghers  and  barons  of 
the  North  were  building  their  dark  streets  and 
grisly  castles  of  oak  and  sandstone,  the  merchants 
of  Venice  were  covering  their  palaces  with  por- 
phyry and  gold;  and  at  last,  when  her  mighty 
painters  had  created  for  her  a  color  more  price- 
less than  gold  or  porphyry,  even  this,  the  richest 
of  her  treasures,  she  lavished  upon  walls  whose 
foundations  were  beaten  by  the  sea;  and  the 
strong  tide,  as  it  runs  beneath  the  Rialto,  is  red- 
dened to  this  day  by  the  reflection  of  the  fres- 
coes of  Giorgione. 

§  xxix.  If,  therefore,  the  reader  does  not  care 
for  color,  I  must  protest  against  his  endeavor  to 
form  any  judgment  whatever  of  this  church  of 
St.  Mark's.  But,  if  he  both  cares  for  and  loves 
it,  let  him  remember  that  the  school  of  incrusted 
architecture  is  the  only  one  in  which  perfect  and 


ST.   MARK'S.  133 

permanent  chromatic  decoration  is  possible;  and  let 
him  look  upon  every  piece  of  jasper  and  alabas- 
ter given  to  the  architect  as  a  cake  of  very  hard 
color,  of  which  a  certain  portion  is  to  be  ground 
down  or  cut  off,  to  paint  the  walls  with.  Once 
understand  this  thoroughly,  and  accept  the  con- 
dition that  the  body  and  availing  strength  of  the 
edifice  are  to  be  in  brick,  and  that  this  under 
muscular  power  of  brickwork  is  to  be  clothed 
with  the  defence  and  the  brightness  of  the 
marble,  as  the  body  of  an  animal  is  protected 
and  adorned  by  its  scales  or  its  skin,  and  all  the 
consequent  fitnesses  and  laws  of  the  structure 
will  be  easily  discernible.  These  I  shall  state 
in  their  natural  order. 

§  xxx.  LAW  I.  That  the  plinths  and  cornices 
used  for  binding  the  armor  are  to  be  light  and  deli- 
cate. A  certain  thickness,  at  least  two  or  three 
inches,  must  be  required  in  the  covering  pieces 
(even  when  composed  of  the  strongest  stone,  and 
set  on  the  least  exposed  parts),  in  order  to  pre- 
vent the  chance  of  fracture,  and  to  allow  for  the 
wear  of  time.  And  the  weight  of  this  armor  must 
not  be  trusted  to  cement;  the  pieces  must  not 
be  merely  glued  to  the  rough  brick  surface,  but 
connected  with  the  mass  which  they  protect  by 
binding  cornices  and  string  courses;  and  with 
each  other,  so  as  to  secure  mutual  support,  aided 
by  the  rivetings,  but  by  no  means  dependent  upon 


134  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

them.  And,  for  the  full  honesty  and  straight- 
forwardness of  the  work,  it  is  necessary  that  these 
string  courses  and  binding  plinths  should  not  be 
of  such  proportions  as  would  fit  them  for  taking 
any  important  part  in  the  hard  work  of  the  inner 
structure,  or  render  them  liable  to  be  mistaken 
for  the  great  cornices  and  plinths  already  ex- 
plained as  essential  parts  of  the  best  solid  build- 
ing. They  must  be  delicate,  slight,  and  visibly 
incapable  of  severer  work  than  that  assigned  to 
them. 

§  xxxi.  LAW  II.  Science  of  inner  structure  is 
to  be  abandoned.  As  the  body  of  the  structure  is 
confessedly  of  inferior,  and  comparatively  inco- 
herent materials,  it  would  be  absurd  to  attempt 
in  it  any  expression  of  the  higher  refinements  of 
construction.  It  will  be  enough  that  by  its  mass 
we  are  assured  of  its  sufficiency  and  strength; 
and  there  is  the  less  reason  for  endeavoring  to 
diminish  the  extent  of  its  surface  by  delicacy  of 
adjustment,  because  on  the  breadth  of  that  sur- 
face we  are  to  depend  for  the  better  display  of 
the  color,  which  is  to  be  the  chief  source  of  our 
pleasure  in  the  building.  The  main  body  of  the 
work,  therefore,  will  be  composed  of  solid  walls 
and  massive  piers;  and  whatever  expression  of 
finer  structural  science  we  may  require,  will  be 
thrown  either  into  subordinate  portions  of  it,  or 
entirely  directed  to  the  support  of  the  external 


ST.    MARK'S,  135 

mail,  where  in  arches  or  vaults  it  might  otherwise 
appear  dangerously  independent  of  the  material 
within. 

§  xxxii.  LAW  III.  All  shafts  are  to  be  solid. 
Wherever,  by  the  smallness  of  the  parts,  we  may 
be  driven  to  abandon  the  incrusted  structure  at 
all,  it  must  be  abandoned  altogether.  The  eye 
must  never  be  left  in  the  least  doubt  as  to  what 
is  solid  and  what  is  coated.  Whatever  appears 
probably  solid,  must  be  assuredly  so,  and  there- 
fore it  becomes  an  inviolable  law  that  no  shaft 
shall  ever  be  incrusted.  Not  only  does  the  whole 
virtue  of  a  shaft  depend  on  its  consolidation, 
but  the  labor  of  cutting  and  adjusting  an  in- 
crusted  coat  to  it  would  be  greater  than  the 
saving  of  material  is  worth.  Therefore  the  shaft, 
of  whatever  size,  is  always  to  be  solid;  and  be- 
cause the  incrusted  character  of  the  rest  of  the 
building  renders  it  more  difficult  for  the  shafts 
to  clear  themselves  from  suspicion,  they  must 
not,  in  this  incrusted  style,  be  in  any  place 
jointed.  No  shaft  must  ever  be  used  but  of  one 
block;  and  this  the  more,  because  the  permission 
given  to  the  builder  to  have  his  walls  and  piers 
as  ponderous  as  he  likes,  renders  it  quite  un- 
necessary for  him  to  use  shafts  of  any  fixed  size. 
In  our  Norman  and  Gothic,  where  definite  sup- 
port is  required  at  a  definite  point,  it  becomes 
lawful  to  build  up  a  tower  of  small  stones  in  the 


136  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

shape  of  a  shaft.  But  the  Byzantine  is  allowed 
to  have  as  much  support  as  he  wants  from  the 
walls  in  every  direction,  and  he  has  no  right  to 
ask  for  further  license  in  the  structure  of  his 
shafts.  Let  him,  by  generosity  in  the  substance 
of  his  pillars,  repay  us  for  the  permission  we 
have  given  him  to  be  superficial  in  his  walls. 
The  builder  in  the  chalk  valleys  of  France  and 
England  may  be  blameless  in  kneading  his 
clumsy  pier  out  of  broken  flint  and  calcined  lime; 
but  the  Venetian,  who  has  access  to  the  riches 
of  Asia  and  the  quarries  of  Egypt,  must  frame 
at  least  his  shafts  out  of  flawless  stone. 

§  xxxin.  And  this  for  another  reason  yet. 
Although,  as  we  have  said,  it  is  impossible  to 
cover  the  walls  of  a  large  building  with  color, 
except  on  the  condition  of  dividing  the  stone 
into  plates,  there  is  always  a  certain  appearance 
of  meanness  and  niggardliness  in  the  procedure. 
It  is  necessary  that  the  builder  should  justify 
himself  from  this  suspicion;  and  prove  that  it  is 
not  in  mere  economy  or  poverty,  but  in  the  real 
impossibility  of  doing  otherwise,  that  he  has 
sheeted  his  walls  so  thinly  with  the  precious 
film.  Now  the  shaft  is  exactly  the  portion  of 
the  edifice  in  which  it  is  fittest  to  recover  his 
honor  in  this  respect.  For  if  blocks  of  jasper  or 
porphyry  be  inserted  in  the  walls,  the  spectator 
cannot  tell  their  thickness,  and  cannot  judge  of 


ST.    MARK'S.  137 

the  costliness  of  the  sacrifice.  But  the  shaft  he 
can  measure  with  his  eye  in  an  instant,  and  esti- 
mate the  quantity  of  treasure  both  in  the  mass 
of  its  existing  substance,  and  in  that  which  has 
been  hewn  away  to  bring  it  into  its  perfect  and 
symmetrical  form.  And  thus  the  shafts  of  all 
buildings  of  this  kind  are  justly  regarded  as  an 
expression  of  their  wealth,  and  a  form  of  treas- 
ure, just  as  much  as  the  jewels  or  gold  in  the 
sacred  vessels;  they  are,  in  fact,  nothing  else 
than  large  jewels,*  the  block  of  precious  serpen- 
tine or  jasper  being  valued  according  to  its  size 
and  brilliancy  of  color,  like  a  large  emerald  or 
ruby;  only  the  bulk  required  to  bestow  value  on 
the  one  is  to  be  measured  in  feet  and  tons,  and 
on  the  other  in  lines  and  carats.  The  shafts 
must  therefore  be,  without  exception,  of  one 
block  in  all  buildings  of  this  kind;  for  the  at- 
tempt in  any  place  to  incrust  or  joint  them  would 
be  a  deception  like  that  of  introducing  a  false 
stone  among  jewellery  (for  a  number  of  joints  of 
any  precious  stone  are  of  course  not  equal  in 

*  ' '  Quivi  presso  si  vedi  una  colonna  di  tanta  bellezza 
e  finezza  che  e  riputato  piutosto  gioia  che  pietra. " — Sanso- 
vino,  of  the  verd-antique  pillar  in  San  Jacomo  dell'  Orio. 
A  remarkable  piece  of  natural  history  and  moral  phi- 
losophy, connected  with  this  subject,  will  be  found  in  the 
second  chapter  of  our  third  volume,  quoted  from  the  work 
of  a  Florentine  architect  of  the  fifteenth  century. 


138  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

value  to  a  single  piece  of  equal  weight),  and 
would  put  an  end  at  once  to  the  spectator's  con- 
fidence in  the  expression  of  wealth  in  any  por- 
tion of  the  structure,  or  of  the  spirit  of  sacrifice 
in  those  who  raised  it. 

§  xxxiv.  LAW  IV.  The  shafts  may  sometimes 
be  independent  of  the  construction.  Exactly  in 
proportion  to  the  importance  which  the  shaft  as- 
sumes as  a  large  jewel,  is  the  diminution  of  its 
importance  as  a  sustaining  member;  for  the  de- 
light which  we  receive  in  its  abstract  bulk,  and 
beauty  of  color,  is  altogether  independent  of  any 
perception  of  its  adaptation  to  mechanical  ne- 
cessities. Like  other  beautiful  things  in  this 
world,  its  end  is  to  be  beautiful;  and,  in  propor- 
tion to  its  beauty,  it  receives  permission  to  be 
otherwise  useless.  We  do  not  blame  emeralds 
and  rubies  because  we  cannot  make  them  into 
heads  of  hammers.  Nay,  so  far  from  our  ad- 
miration of  the  jewel  shaft  being  dependent  on 
its  doing  work  for  us,  it  is  very  possible  that  a 
chief  part  of  its  preciousness  may  consist  in  a 
delicacy,  fragility,  and  tenderness  of  material, 
which  must  render  it  utterly  unfit  for  hard  work; 
and  therefore  that  we  shall  admire  it  the  more, 
because  we  perceive  that  if  we  were  to  put  much 
weight  upon  it,  it  would  be  crushed.  But,  at  all 
events,  it  is  very  clear  that  the  primal  object  in 
the  placing  of  such  shafts  must  be  the  display  of 


57-.    MARK'S.  139 

their  beauty  to  the  best  advantage,  and  that 
therefore  all  imbedding  of  them  in  walls,  or 
crowding  of  them  into  groups,  in  any  position  in 
which  either  their  real  size  or  any  portion  of 
their  surface  would  be  concealed,  is  either  inad- 
missible together,  or  objectionable  in  proportion 
to  their  value;  that  no  symmetrical  or  scientific 
arrangements  of  pillars  are  therefore  ever  to  be 
expected  in  buildings  of  this  kind,  and  that  all 
such  are  even  to  be  looked  upon  as  positive  er- 
rors and  misapplications  of  materials:  but  that, 
on  the  contrary,  we  must  be  constantly  prepared 
to  see,  and  to  see  with  admiration,  shafts  of 
great  size  and  importance  set  in  places  where 
their  real  service  is  little  more  than  nominal,  and 
where  the  chief  end  of  their  existence  is  to  catch 
the  sunshine  upon  their  polished  sides,  and  lead 
the  eye  into  delighted  wandering  among  the 
mazes  of  their  azure  veins. 

§  xxxv.  LAW  V.  The  shafts  may  be  of  vari- 
able size.  Since  the  value  of  each  shaft  depends 
upon  its  bulk,  and  diminishes  with  the  diminu- 
tion of  its  mass,  in  a  greater  ratio  than  the  size 
itself  diminishes,  as  in  the  case  of  all  other  jew- 
ellery, it  is  evident  that  we  must  not  in  general 
expect  perfect  symmetry  and  equality  among  the 
series  of  shafts,  any  more  than  definiteness  of 
application;  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  an  accu- 
rately observed'  symmetry  ought  to  give  us  a 


I4O  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

kind  of  pain,  as  proving  that  considerable  and 
useless  loss  has  been  sustained  by  some  of  the 
shafts,  in  being  cut  down  to  match  with  the  rest. 
It  is  true  that  symmetry  is  generally  sought  for 
in  works  of  smaller  jewellery;  but,  even  there, 
not  a  perfect  symmetry,  and  obtained  under  cir- 
cumstances quite  different  from  those  which  af- 
fect the  placing  of  shafts  in  architecture.  First: 
the  symmetry  is  usually  imperfect.  The  stones 
that  seem  to  match  each  other  in  a  ring  or  neck- 
lace, appear  to  do  so  only  because  they  are  so 
small  that  their  differences  are  not  easily  meas- 
ured by  the  eye;  but  there  is  almost  always  such 
difference  between  them  as  would  be  strikingly 
apparent  if  it  existed  in  the  same  proportion 
between  two  shafts  nine  or  ten  feet  in  height. 
Secondly:  the  quantity  of  stones  which  pass 
through  a  jeweller's  hands,  and  the  facility  of 
exchange  of  such  small  objects,  enable  the 
tradesman  to  select  any  number  of  stones  of  ap- 
proximate size;  a  selection,  however,  often  re- 
quiring so  much  time,  that  perfect  symmetry  in 
a  group  of  very  fine  stones  adds  enormously  to 
their  value.  But  the  architect  has  neither  the 
time  nor  the  facilities  of  exchange.  He  cannot 
lay  aside  one  column  in  a  corner  of  his  church 
till,  in  the  course  of  traffic,  he  obtain  another 
that  will  match  it;  he  has  not  hundreds  of 
shafts  fastened  up  in  bundles,  out  of  which  he 


ST.    MARK'S.  141 

can  match  sizes  at  his  ease;  he  cannot  send  to 
a  brother-tradesman  and  exchange  the  useless 
stones  for  available  ones,  to  the  convenience  of 
both.  His  blocks  of  stone,  or  his  ready  hewn 
shafts,  have  been  brought  to  him  in  limited 
number,  from  immense  distances;  no  others  are 
to  be  had;  and  for  those  which  he  does  not 
bring  into  use,  there  is  no  demand  elsewhere. 
His  only  means  of  obtaining  symmetry  will 
therefore  be,  in  cutting  down  the  finer  masses  to 
equality  with  the  inferior  ones;  and  this  we 
ought  not  to  desire  him  often  to  do.  And  there- 
fore, while  sometimes  in  a  Baldacchino,  or  an 
important  chapel  or  shrine,  this  costly  symmetry 
may  be  necessary,  and  admirable  in  proportion 
to  its  probable  cost,  in  the  general  fabric  we 
must  expect  to  see  shafts  introduced  of  size  and 
proportion  continually  varying,  and  such  sym- 
metry as  may  be  obtained  among  them  never  al- 
together perfect,  and  dependent  for  its  charm 
frequently  on  strange  complexities  and  unex- 
pected rising  and  falling  of  weight  and  accent  in 
its  marble  syllables;  bearing  the  same  relation  to 
a  rigidly  chiselled  and  proportioned  architect- 
ure that  the  wild  lyric  rhythm  of  ^Eschylus  or 
Pindar  bears  to  the  finished  measures  of  Pope. 

§  xxxvi.  The  application  of  the  principles  of 
jewellery  to  the  smaller  as  well  as  the  larger 
blocks,  will  suggest  to  us  another  reason  for  the 


142  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

method  of  incrustation  adopted  in  the  walls.  It 
often  happens  that  the  beauty  of  the  veining  in 
some  varieties  of  alabaster  is  so  great,  that  it  be- 
comes desirable  to  exhibit  it  by  dividing  the 
stone,  not  merely  to  economize  its  substance, 
but  to  display  the  changes  in  the  disposition  of 
its  fantastic  lines.  By  reversing  one  of  two  thin 
plates  successively  taken  from  the  stone,  and 
placing  their  corresponding  edges  in  contact,  a 
perfectly  symmetrical  figure  may  be  obtained, 
which  will  enable  the  eye  to  comprehend  more 
thoroughly  the  position  of  the  veins.  And  this 
is  actually  the  method  in  which,  for  the  most 
part,  the  alabasters  of  St.  Mark  are  employed; 
thus  accomplishing  a  double  good, — directing 
the  spectator,  in  the  first  place,  to  close  observa- 
tion of  the  nature  of  the  stone  employed,  and  in 
the  second,  giving  him  a  farther  proof  of  the 
honesty  of  intention  in  the  builder:  for  wherever 
similar  veining  is  discovered  in  two  pieces,  the 
fact  is  declared  that  they  have  been  cut  from 
the  same  stone.  It  would  have  been  easy  to  dis- 
guise the  similarity  by  using  them  in  different 
parts  of  the  building;  but  on  the  contrary  they 
are  set  edge  to  edge,  so  that  the  whole  system  of 
the  architecture  may  be  discovered  at  a  glance 
by  any  one  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  the 
stones  employed.  Nay,  but,  it  is  perhaps  an- 
swered me,  not  by  an  ordinary  observer;  a  person 


ST.    MARK'S.  143 

ignorant  of  the  nature  of  alabaster  might  per- 
haps fancy  all  these  symmetrical  patterns  to 
have  been  found  in  the  stone  itself,  and  thus  be 
doubly  deceived,  supposing  blocks  to  be  solid 
and  symmetrical  which  were  in  reality  subdi- 
vided and  irregular.  I  grant  it;  but  be  it  re- 
membered, that  in  all  things,  ignorance  is  liable 
to  be  deceived,  and  has  no  right  to  accuse  any- 
thing but  itself  as  the  source  of  the  deception. 
The  style  and  the  words  are  dishonest,  not  which 
are  liable  to  be  misunderstood  if  subjected  to  no 
inquiry,  but  which  are  deliberately  calculated  to 
lead  inquiry  astray.  There  are  perhaps  no  great 
or  noble  truths,  from  those  of  religion  downwards, 
which  present  no  mistakable  aspect  to  casual  or 
ignorant  contemplation.  Both  the  truth  and  the 
lie  agree  in  hiding  themselves  at  first,  but  the  lie 
continues  to  hide  itself  with  effort,  as  we  ap- 
proach to  examine  it;  and  leads  us,  if  undiscov- 
ered, into  deeper  lies;  the  truth  reveals  itself  in 
proportion  to  our  patience  and  knowledge,  dis- 
covers itself  kindly  to  our  pleading,  and  leads 
us,  as  it  is  discovered,  into  deeper  truths. 

§  xxxvu.  LAW  VI.  The  decoration  must  be 
shallow  in  cutting.  The  method  of  construction 
being  thus  systematized,  it  is  evident  that  a  cer- 
tain style  of  decoration  must  arise  out  of  it, 
based  on  the  primal  condition  that  over  the 
greater  part  of  the  edifice  there  can  be  no  deep 


144  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

cutting.  The  thin  sheets  of  covering  stones  do 
not  admit  of  it;  we  must  not  cut  them  through 
to  the  bricks;  and  whatever  ornaments  we  en- 
grave upon  them  cannot,  therefore,  be  more 
than  an  inch  deep  at  the  utmost.  Consider  for 
an  instant  the  enormous  differences  which  this 
single  condition  compels  between  the  sculptural 
decoration  of  the  incrusted  style,  and  that  of 
the  solid  stones  of  the  North,  which  may  be 
hacked  and  hewn  into  whatever  cavernous  hol- 
lows and  black  recesses  we  choose;  struck  into 
grim  darknesses  and  grotesque  projections,  and 
rugged  ploughings  up  of  sinuous  furrows,  in 
which  any  form  or  thought  may  be  wrought  out 
on  any  scale, — mighty  statues  with  robes  of 
rock  and  crowned  foreheads  burning  in  the 
sun,  or  venomous  goblins  and  stealthy  dragons 
shrunk  into  lurking-places  of  untraceable  shade: 
think  of  this,  and  of  the  play  and  freedom  given 
to  the  sculptor's  hand  and  temper,  to  smite  out 
and  in,  hither  and  thither,  as  he  will;  and  then 
consider  what  must  be  the  different  spirit  of  the 
design  which  is  to  be  wrought  on  the  smooth 
surface  of  a  film  of  marble,  where  every  line 
and  shadow  must  be  drawn  with  the  most  ten- 
der pencilling  and  cautious  reserve  of  resource, 
— where  even  the  chisel  must  not  strike  hard, 
lest  it  break  through  the  delicate  stone,  nor  the 
mind  be  permitted  in  any  impetuosity  of  con- 


57;   MARK'S.  145 

ception  inconsistent  with  the  fine  discipline  of 
the  hand.  Consider  that  whatever  animal  or 
human  form  is  to  be  suggested,  must  be  pro- 
jected on  a  flat  surface;  that  all  the  features  of 
the  countenance,  the  folds  of  the  drapery,  the  in- 
volutions of  the  limbs,  must  be  so  reduced  and 
subdued  that  the  whole  work  becomes  rather  a 
piece  of  fine  drawing  than  of  sculpture;  and  then 
follow  out,  until  you  begin  to  perceive  their 
endlessness,  the  resulting  differences  of  character 
which  will  be  necessitated  in  every  part  of  the 
ornamental  designs  of  these  incrusted  churches, 
as  compared  with  that  of  the  Northern  schools. 
I  shall  endeavor  to  trace  a  few  of  them  only. 

§  xxxvin.  The  first  would  of  course  be  a 
diminution  of  the  builder's  dependence  upon 
human  form  as  a  source  of  ornament:  since  ex- 
actly in  proportion  to  the  dignity  of  the  form 
itself  is  the  loss  which  it  must  sustain  in  being 
reduced  to  a  shallow  and  linear  bas-relief,  as 
well  as  the  difficulty  of  expressing  it  at  all 
under  such  conditions.  Wherever  sculpture  can 
be  solid,  the  nobler  characters  of  the  human 
form  at  once  lead  the  artist  to  aim  at  its  repre- 
sentation, rather  than  at  that  of  inferior  organ- 
isms; but  when  all  is  to  be  reduced  to  outline, 
the  forms  of  flowers  and  lower  animals  are  al- 
ways more  intelligible,  and  are  felt  to  approach 
much  more  to  a  satisfactory  rendering  of  the 


146  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

objects  intended,  than  the  outlines  of  the  hu- 
man body.  This  inducement  to  seek  for  re- 
sources of  ornament  in  the  lower  fields  of  crea- 
tion was  powerless  in  the  minds  of  the  great 
Pagan  nations,  Ninevite,  Greek,  or  Egyptian: 
first,  because  their  thoughts  were  so  concen- 
trated on  their  own  capacities  and  fates,  that 
they  preferred  the  rudest  suggestion  of  human 
form  to  the  best  of  an  inferior  organism;  sec- 
ondly, because  their  constant  practice  in  solid 
sculpture,  often  colossal,  enabled  them  to  bring 
a  vast  amount  of  science  into  the  treatment  of 
the  lines,  whether  of  the  low  relief,  the  mono- 
chrome vase,  or  shallow  hieroglyphic. 

§  xxxix.  But  when  various  ideas  adverse  to 
the  representation  of  animal,  and  especially  of  hu- 
man, form,  originating  with  the  Arabs  and  icon- 
oclast Greeks,  had  begun  at  any  rate  to  direct 
the  builders'  minds  to  seek  for  decorative  mate- 
rials in  inferior  types,  and  when  diminished 
practice  in  solid  sculpture  had  rendered  it  more 
difficult  to  find  artists  capable  of  satisfactorily 
reducing  the  high  organisms  to  their  elementary 
outlines,  the  choice  of  subject  for  surface  sculp- 
ture would  be  more  and  more  uninterruptedly 
directed  to  floral  organisms,  and  human  and 
animal  form  would  become  diminished  in  size, 
frequency,  and  general  importance.  So  that, 
while  in  the  Northern  solid  architecture  we  con- 


ST.    MARK'S.  147 

stantly  find  the  effect  of  its  noblest  features  de- 
pendent on  ranges  of  statues,  often  colossal,  and 
full  of  abstract  interest,  independent  of  their 
architectural  service,  in  the  Southern  incrusted 
style  we  must  expect  to  find  the  human  form  for 
the  most  part  subordinate  and  diminutive,  and 
involved  among  designs  of  foliage  and  flowers, 
in  the  manner  of  which  endless  examples  had 
been  furnished  by  the  fantastic  ornamentation  of 
the  Romans,  from  which  the  incrusted  style  had 
been  directly  derived. 

§  XL.  Farther.  In  proportion  to  the  degree 
in  which  his  subject  must  be  reduced  to  abstract 
outline  will  be  the  tendency  in  the  sculptor 
to  abandon  naturalism  of  representation,  and 
subordinate  every  form  to  architectural  service. 
Where  the  flower  or  animal  can  be  hewn  into 
bold  relief,  there  will  always  be  a  temptation  to 
render  the  representation  of  it  more  complete 
than  is  necessary,  or  even  to  introduce  details 
and  intricacies  inconsistent  with  simplicity  of 
distant  effect.  Very  often  a  worse  fault  than 
this  is  committed;  and  in  the  endeavor  to  give 
vitality  to  the  stone,  the  original  ornamental 
purpose  of  the  design  is  sacrificed  or  forgotten. 
But  when  nothing  of  this  kind  can  be  attempted, 
and  a  slight  outline  is  all  that  the  sculptor  can 
command,  we  may  anticipate  that  this  outline 
will  be  composed  with  exquisite  grace;  and  that 


148  THE  STONES  OF   VENICE. 

the  richness  of  its  ornamental  arrangement  will 
atone  for  the  feebleness  of  its  power  of  por- 
traiture. On  the  porch  of  a  Northern  cathe- 
dral we  may  seek  for  the  images  of  the  flowers 
that  grow  in  the  neighboring  fields,  and  as  we 
watch  with  wonder  the  gray  stones  that  fret 
themselves  into  thorns,  and  soften  into  blos- 
soms, we  may  care  little  that  these  knots  of 
ornament,  as  we  retire  from  them  to  contem- 
plate the  whole  building,  appear  unconsidered 
or  confused.  On  the  incrusted  building  we 
must  expect  no  such  deception  of  the  eye  or 
thoughts.  It  may  sometimes  be  difficult  to  de- 
termine, from  the  involutions  of  its  linear  sculp- 
ture, what  were  the  natural  forms  which  origi- 
nally suggested  them:  but  we  may  confidently 
expect  that  the  grace  of  their  arrangement  will 
always  be  complete;  that  there  will  not  be  a 
line  in  them  which  could  be  taken  away  with- 
out injury,  nor  one  wanting  which  could  be 
added  with  advantage. 

§  XLI.  Farther.  While  the  sculptures  of  the 
incrusted  school  will  thus  be  generally  distin- 
guished by  care  and  purity  rather  than  force, 
and  will  be,  for  the  most  part,  utterly  wanting 
in  depth  of  shadow,  there  will  be  one  means  of 
obtaining  darkness  peculiarly  simple  and  obvi- 
ous, and  often  in  the  sculptor's  power.  Wher- 
ever he  can,  without  danger,  leave  a  hollow  be- 


ST.    MARK'S.  149 

hind  his  covering  slabs,  or  use  them,  like  glass, 
to  fill  an  aperture  in  the  wall,  he  can,  by  pierc- 
ing them  with  holes,  obtain  points  or  spaces  of 
intense  blackness  to  contrast  with  the  light 
tracing  of  the  rest  of  his  design.  And  we  may 
expect  to  find  this  artifice  used  the  more  exten- 
sively, because,  while  it  will  be  an  effective 
means  of  ornamentation  on  the  exterior  of  the 
building,  it  will  be  also  the  safest  way  of  admit- 
ting light  to  the  interior,  still  totally  excluding 
both  rain  and  wind.  And  it  will  naturally  fol- 
low that  the  architect,  thus  familiarized  with  the 
effect  of  black  and  sudden  points  of  shadow, 
will  often  seek  to  carry  the  same  principle  into 
other  portions  of  his  ornamentation,  and  by 
deep  drill-holes,  or  perhaps  inlaid  portions  of 
black  color,  to  refresh  the  eye  where  it  may  be 
wearied  by  the  lightness  of  the  general  handling. 
§  XLII.  Farther.  Exactly  in  proportion  to  the 
degree  in  which  the  force  of  sculpture  is  sub- 
dued, will  be  the  importance  attached  to  color 
as  a  means  of  effect  or  constituent  of  beauty. 
I  have  above  stated  that  the  incrusted  style  was 
the  only  one  in  which  perfect  or  permanent 
color  decoration  was  possible.  It  is  also  the  only 
one  in  which  a  true  system  of  color  decoration 
was  ever  likely  to  be  invented.  In  order  to  un- 
derstand this,  the  reader  must  permit  me  to 
review  with  some  care  the  nature  of  the  princi- 


THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 


pies  of  coloring  adopted  by  the  Northern  and 
Southern  nations. 

§  XLIII.  I  believe  that  from  the  beginning  of 
the  world  there  has  never  been  a  true  or  fine 
school  of  art  in  which  color  was  despised.  It 
has  often  been  imperfectly  attained  and  injudi- 
ciously applied,  but  I  believe  it  to  be  one  of  the 
essential  signs  of  life  in  a  school  of  art.  that  it 
loves  color;  and  I  know  it  to  be  one  of  the  first 
signs  of  death  in  the  Renaissance  schools,  that 
they  despised  color. 

Observe,  it  is  not  now  the  question  whether 
our  Northern  cathedrals  are  better  with  color  or 
without.  Perhaps  the  great  monotone  gray  of 
Nature  and  of  Time  is  a  better  color  than  any 
that  the  human  hand  can  give;  but  that  is  noth- 
ing to  our  present  business.  The  simple  fact  is, 
that  the  builders  of  those  cathedrals  laid  upon 
them  the  brightest  colors  they  could  obtain,  and 
that  there  is  not,  as  far  as  I  am  aware,  in  Europe, 
any  monument  of  a  truly  noble  school  which  has 
not  been  either  painted  all  over,  or  vigorously 
touched  with  paint,  mosaic,  and  gilding  in  its 
prominent  parts.  Thus  far  Egyptians,  Greeks, 
Goths,  Arabs,  and  mediaeval  Christians  all  agree: 
none  of  them,  when  in  their  right  senses,  ever 
think  of  doing  without  paint;  and,  therefore, 
when  I  said  above  that  the  Venetians  were  the 
only  people  who  had  thoroughly  sympathized 


ST.    MARK'S.  151 

with  the  Arabs  in  this  respect,  I  referred,  first,  to 
their  intense  love  of  color,  which  led  them  td 
lavish  the  most  expensive  decorations  on  ordi- 
nary dwelling-houses;  and,  secondly,  to  that  per- 
fection of  the  color-instinct  in  them,  which 
enabled  them  to  render  whatever  they  did,  in 
this  kind,  as  just  in  principle  as  it  was  gorgeous 
in  appliance.  It  is  this  principle  of  theirs,  as 
distinguished  from  that  of  the  Northern  build- 
ers, which  we  have  finally  to  examine. 

§  XLIV.  In  the  second  chapter  of  the  first 
volume,  it  was  noticed  that  the  architect  of 
Bourges  Cathedral  liked  hawthorn,  and  that  the 
porch  of  his  cathedral  was  therefore  decorated 
with  a  rich  wreath  of  it;  but  another  of  the 
predilections  of  that  architect  was  there  unno- 
ticed, namely,  that  he  did  not  at  all  like  gray 
hawthorn,  but  preferred  it  green,  and  he  painted 
it  green  accordingly,  as  bright  as  he  could. 
The  color  is  still  left  in  every  sheltered  inter- 
stice of  the  foliage.  He  had,  in  fact,  hardly  the 
choice  of  any  other  color;  he  might  have  gilded 
the  thorns,  by  way  of  allegorizing  human  life, 
but  if  they  were  to  be  painted  at  all,  they  could 
hardly  be  painted  anything  but  green,  and  green 
all  over.  People  would  have  been  apt  to  object 
to  any  pursuit  of  abstract  harmonies  of  color, 
which  might  have  induced  him  to  paint  his 
hawthorn  blue. 


THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 


§  XLV.  In  the  same  way,  whenever  the  subject 
of  the  sculpture  was  definite,  its  color  was  of 
necessity  definite  also;  and,  in  the  hands  of  the 
Northern  builders,  it  often  became,  in  conse- 
quence, rather  the  means  of  explaining  and 
animating  the  stories  of  their  stone-work,  than  a 
matter  of  abstract  decorative  science.  Flowers 
were  painted  red,  trees  green,  and  faces  flesh- 
color;  the  result  of  the  whole  being  often  far 
more  entertaining  than  beautiful.  And  also, 
though  in  the  lines  of  the  mouldings  and  the 
decorations  of  shafts  or  vaults,  a  richer  and 
more  abstract  method  of  coloring  was  adopted 
(aided  by  the  rapid  development  of  the  best 
principles  of  color  in  early  glass-painting),  the 
vigorous  depths  of  shadow  in  the  Northern  sculp- 
ture confused  the  architect's  eye,  compelling 
him  to  use  violent  colors  in  the  recesses,  if  these 
were  to  be  seen  as  color  at  all,  and  thus  injured 
his  perception  of  more  delicate  color  harmonies; 
so  that  in  innumerable  instances  it  becomes 
very  disputable  whether  monuments  even  of  the 
best  times  were  improved  by  the  color  bestowed 
upon  them,  or  the  contrary.  But,  in  the  South, 
the  flatness  and  comparatively  vague  forms  of 
the  sculpture,  while  they  appeared  to  call  for 
color  in  order  to  enhance  their  interest,  pre- 
sented exactly  the  conditions  which  would  set 
it  off  to  the  greatest  advantage;  breadth  of 


ST.    MARK'S.  153 

surface  displaying  even  the  most  delicate  tints 
in  the  lights,  and  faintness  of  shadow  joining 
with  the  most  delicate  and  pearly  grays  of  color 
harmony;  while  the  subject  of  the  design  being 
in  nearly  all  cases  reduced  to  mere  intricacy  of 
ornamental  line,  might  be  colored  in  any  way  the 
architect  chose  without  any  loss  of  rationality. 
Where  oak-leaves  and  roses  were  carved  into 
fresh  relief  and  perfect  bloom,  it  was  necessary 
to  paint  the  one  green  and  the  other  red;  but  in 
portions  of  ornamentation  where  there  was  noth- 
ing which  could  be  definitely  construed  into 
either  an  oak-leaf  or  a  rose,  but  a  mere  labyrinth 
of  beautiful  lines,  becoming  here  something  like 
a  leaf,  and  there  something  like  a  flower,  the 
whole  tracery  of  the  sculpture  might  be  left 
white,  and  grounded  with  gold  or  blue,  or  treated 
in  any  other  manner  best  harmonizing  with  the 
colors  around  it.  And  as  the  necessarily  feeble 
character  of  the  sculpture  called  for  and  was 
ready  to  display  the  best  arrangements  of  color, 
so  the  precious  marbles  in  the  architect's  hands 
give  him  at  once  the  best  examples  and  the  best 
means  of  color.  The  best  examples,  for  the 
tints  of  all  natural  stones  are  as  exquisite  in 
quality  as  endless  in  change ;  and  the  best 
means,  for  they  are  all  permanent. 

§  XLVI.  Every  motive  thus  concurred  in  urg- 
ing him  to  the  study  of  chromatic  decoration, 


154  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

and  every  advantage  was  given  him  in  the  pur- 
suit of  it;  and  this  at  the  very  moment  when,  as 
presently  to  be  noticed,  the  na'ivete  of  barbaric 
Christianity  could  only  be  forcibly  appealed  to 
by  the  help  of  colored  pictures:  so  that,  both 
externally  and  internally,  the  architectural  con- 
struction became  partly  merged  in  pictorial 
effect;  and  the  whole  edifice  is  to  be  regarded 
less  as  a  temple  wherein  to  pray,  than  as  itself  a 
Book  of  Common  Prayer,  a  vast  illuminated 
missal,  bound  with  alabaster  instead  of  parch- 
ment, studded  with  porphyry  pillars  instead  of 
jewels,  and  written  within  and  without  in  letters 
of  enamel  and  gold. 

§  XLVII.  LAW  VII.  That  the  impression  of  the 
architecture  is  not  to  be  dependent  on  size.  And 
now  there  is  but  one  final  consequence  to  be 
deduced.  The  reader  understands,  I  trust,  by 
this  time,  that  the  claims  of  these  several  parts 
of  the  building  upon  his  attention  will  depend 
upon  their  delicacy  of  design,  their  perfection  of 
color,  their  preciousness  of  material,  and  their 
legendary  interest.  All  these  qualities  are  inde- 
pendent of  size,  and  partly  even  inconsistent 
with  it.  Neither  delicacy  of  surface  sculpture, 
nor  subtle  gradations  of  color,  can  be  appreciated 
by  the  eye  at  a  distance;  and  since  we  have  seen 
that  our  sculpture  is  generally  to  be  only  an  inch 
or  two  in  depth,  and  that  our  coloring  is  in  great 


ST.    MARKS.  155 

part  to  be  produced  with  the  soft  tints  and  veins 
of  natural  stones,  it  will  follow  necessarily  that 
none  of  the  parts  of  the  building  can  be  re- 
moved far  from  the  eye,  and  therefore  that  the 
whole  mass  of  it  cannot  be  large.  It  is  not  even 
desirable  that  it  should  be  so;  for  the  temper  in 
which  the  mind  addresses  itself  to  contemplate 
minute  and  beautiful  details  is  altogether  differ- 
ent from  that  in  which  it  submits  itself  to  vague 
impressions  of  space  and  size.  And  therefore 
we  must  not  be  disappointed,  but  grateful,  when 
we  find  all  the  best  work  of  the  building  con- 
centrated within  a  space  comparatively  small; 
and  that,  for  the  great  cliff-like  buttresses  and 
mighty  piers  of  the  North,  shooting  up  into  in- 
discernible height,  we  have  here  low  walls  spread 
before  us  like  the  pages  of  a  book,  and  shafts 
whose  capitals  we  may  touch  with  our  hand. 

§  XLVIII.  The  due  consideration  of  the  princi- 
ples above  stated  will  enable  the  traveller  to 
judge  with  more  candor  and  justice  of  the  archi- 
tecture of  St.  Mark's  than  usually  it  would  have 
been  possible  for  him  to  do  while  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  prejudices  necessitated  by  famil- 
iarity with  the  very  different  schools  of  Northern 
art.  I  wish  it  were  in  my  power  to  lay  also 
before  the  general  reader  some  exemplification 
of  the  manner  in  which  these  strange  principles 
are  developed  in  the  lovely  building.  But  ex- 


156  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

actly  in  proportion  to  the  nobility  of  any  work, 
is  the  difficulty  of  conveying  a  just  impression 
of  it:  and  wherever  I  have  occasion  to  bestow 
high  praise,  there  it  is  exactly  most  dangerous 
for  me  to  endeavor  to  illustrate  my  meaning, 
except  by  reference  to  the  work  itself.  And,  in 
fact,  the  principal  reason  why  architectural 
criticism  is  at  this  day  so  far  behind  all  other,  is 
the  impossibility  of  illustrating  the  best  architec- 
ture faithfully.  Of  the  various  schools  of  paint- 
ing, examples  are  accessible  to  every  one,  and 
reference  to  the  works  themselves  is  found  suffi- 
cient for  all  purposes  of  criticism;  but  there  is 
nothing  like  St.  Mark's  or  the  Ducal  Palace  to 
be  referred  to  in  the  National  Gallery,  and  no 
faithful  illustration  of  them  is  possible  on  the 
scale  of  such  a  volume  as  this.  And  it  is  ex- 
ceedingly difficult  on  any  scale.  Nothing  is  so 
rare  in  art,  as  far  as  my  own  experience  goes,  as 
a  fair  illustration  of  architecture;  perfect  illustra- 
tion of  it  does  not  exist.  For  all  good  architec- 
ture depends  upon  the  adaptation  of  its  chisel- 
ling to  the  effect  at  a  certain  distance  from  the 
eye;  and  to  render  the  peculiar  confusion  in  the 
midst  of  order,  and  uncertainty  in  the  midst  of 
decision,  and  mystery  in  the  midst  of  trenchant 
lines,  which  are  the  result  of  distance,  together 
with  perfect  expression  of  the  peculiarities  of  the 
design,  requires  the  skill  of  the  most  admirable 


ST.   MARK'S.  157 

artist,  devoted  to  the  work  with  the  most  severe 
conscientiousness,  neither  the  skill  nor  the  de- 
termination having  as  yet  been  given  to  the 
subject.  And  in  the  illustration  of  details,  every 
building  of  any  pretensions  to  high  architectural 
rank  would  require  a  volume  of  plates,  and  those 
finished  with  extraordinary  care.  With  respect 
to  the  two  buildings  which  are  the  principal  sub- 
jects of  the  present  volume,  St.  Mark's  and  the 
Ducal  Palace,  I  have  found  it  quite  impossible 
to  do  them  the  slightest  justice  by  any  kind  of 
portraiture;  and  I  abandoned  the  endeavor  in 
the  case  of  the  latter  with  less  regret,  because  in 
the  new  Crystal  Palace  (as  the  poetical  public 
insist  upon  calling  it,  though  it  is  neither  a 
palace,  nor  of  crystal)  there  will  be  placed,  I 
believe,  a  noble  cast  of  one  of  its  angles.  As 
for  St.  Mark's,  the  effort  was  hopeless  from  the 
beginning.  For  its  effect  depends  not  only  upon 
the  most  delicate  sculpture  in  every  part,  but,  as 
we  have  just  stated,  eminently  on  its  color  also, 
and  that  the  most  subtle,  variable,  inexpressible 
color  in  the  world, — the  color  of  glass,  of  trans- 
parent alabaster,  of  polished  marble,  and  lustrous 
gold.  It  would  be  easier  to  illustrate  a  crest  of 
Scottish  mountain,  with  its  purple  heather  and 
pale  harebells  at  their  fullest  and  fairest,  or  a 
glade  of  Jura  forest,  with  its  floor  of  anemone 
and  moss,  than  a  single  portico  of  St.  Mark's. 


158  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

The  fragment  of  one  of  its  archivolts,  given  at 
the  bottom  of  the  opposite  Plate,  is  not  to  illus- 
trate the  thing  itself,  but  to  illustrate  the  impos- 
sibility of  illustration. 

§  XLIX.  It  is  left  a  fragment,  in  order  to  get  it 
on  a  larger  scale;  and  yet  even  on  this  scale  it  is 
too  small  to  show  the  sharp  folds  and  points  of 
the  marble  vine-leaves  with  sufficient  clearness. 
The  ground  of  it  is  gold,  the  sculpture  in  the 
spandrils  is  not  more  than  an  inch  and  a  half 
deep,  rarely  so  much.  It  is  in  fact  nothing 
more  than  an  exquisite  sketching  of  outlines  in 
marble,  to  about  the  same  depth  as  in  the  Elgin 
frieze;  the  draperies,  however,  being  filled  with 
close  folds,  in  the  manner  of  the  Byzantine  pict- 
ures, folds  especially  necessary  here,  as  large 
masses  could  not  be  expressed  in  the  shallow 
sculpture  without  becoming  insipid;  but  the  dis- 
position of  these  folds  is  always  most  beautiful, 
and  often  opposed  by  broad  and  simple  spaces, 
like  that  obtained  by  the  scroll  in  the  hand  of 
the  prophet  seen  in  the  Plate. 

The  balls  in  the  archivolt  project  considerably, 
and  the  interstices  between  their  interwoven 
bands  of  marble  are  filled  with  colors  like  the 
illuminations  of  a  manuscript;  violet,  crimson, 
blue,  gold,  and  green  alternately:  but  no  green 
is  ever  used  without  an  intermixture  of  blue 
pieces  in  the  mosaic,  nor  any  blue  without  a 


ST.   MARK'S.  159 

little  centre  of  pale  green;  sometimes  only  a 
single  piece  of  glass  a  quarter  of  an  inch  square, 
so  subtle  was  the  feeling  for  color  which  was 
thus  to  be  satisfied.*  The  intermediate  circles 
have  golden  stars  set  on  an  azure  ground,  varied 
in  the  same  manner;  and  the  small  crosses  seen 
in  the  intervals  are  alternately  blue  and  subdued 
scarlet,  with  two  small  circles  of  white  set  in  the 
golden  ground  above  and  beneath  them,  each 
only  about  half  an  inch  across  (this  work,  re- 
member, being  on  the  outside  of  the  building, 
and  twenty  feet  above  the  eye),  while  the  blue 
crosses  have  each  a  pale  green  centre.  Of  all 
this  exquisitely  mingled  hue,  no  plate,  however 
large  or  expensive,  could  give  any  adequate  con- 
ception; but,  if  the  reader  will  supply  in  imagi- 
nation to  the  engraving  what  he  supplies  to  a 
common  woodcut  of  a  group  of  flowers,  the  de- 
cision of  the  respective  merits  of  modern  and  of 
Byzantine  architecture  may  be  allowed  to  rest 
on  this  fragment  of  St.  Mark's  alone. 

From  the  vine-leaves  of  that  archivolt,  though 
there  is  no  direct  imitation  of  nature  in  them,, 
but  on  the  contrary  a  studious  subjection  to 

*  The  fact  is,  that  no  two  tesserae  of  the  glass  are  ex- 
actly of  the  same  tint,  the  greens  being  all  varied  with 
blues,  the  blues  of  different  depths,  the  reds  of  different 
clearness,  so  that  the  effect  of  each  mass  of  color  is  full  of 
variety,  like  the  stippled  color  of  a  fruit  piece. 


160  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

architectural  purpose  more  particularly  to  be 
noticed  hereafter,  we  may  yet  receive  the  same 
kind  of  pleasure  which  we  have  in  seeing  true 
vine-leaves  and  wreathed  branches  traced  upon 
golden  light;  its  stars  upon  their  azure  ground 
ought  to  make  us  remember,  as  its  builder  re- 
membered, the  stars' that  ascend  and  fall  in  the 
great  arch  of  the  sky:  and  I  believe  that  stars, 
and  boughs,  and  leaves,  and  bright  colors  are 
everlastingly  lovely,  and  to  be  by  all  men  be- 
loved; and,  moreover,  that  church  walls  grimly 
seared  with  squared  lines,  are  not  better  nor 
nobler  things  than  these.  I  believe  the  man 
who  designed  and  the  men  who  delighted  in  that 
archivolt  to  have  been  wise,  happy,  and  holy. 
Let  the  reader  look  back  to  the  archivolt  I  have 
already  given  out  of  the  streets  of  London 
(Plate  XIII.  Vol.  I.,  Stones  of  Venice),  and  see 
what  there  is  in  it  to  make  us  any  of  the  three. 
Let  him  remember  that  the  men  who  design 
such  work  as  that  call  St.  Mark's  a  barbaric 
monstrosity,  and  let  him  judge  between  us. 

§  L.  Some  farther  details  of  the  St.    Mark's 
architecture,  and  especially  a  general  account  of^ 
Byzantine  capitals,  and  of  the  principal  ones  at 
the  angles  of  the  church,  will  be  found  in  the 
following  chapter.*     Here  I  must  pass  on  to  the 

*  Some  illustration,  also,  of  what  was  said  in  §  xxxin- 
above,  respecting  the  value  of  the  shafts  of  St.  Mark's  as 


ST.    MARK'S.  l6l 

second  part  of  our  immediate  subject,  namely, 
the  inquiry  how  far  the  exquisite  and  varied 
ornament  of  St.  Mark's  fits  it,  as  a  Temple,  for 
its  sacred  purpose,  and  would  be  applicable  in 
the  churches  of  modern  times.  We  have  here 
evidently  two  questions:  the  first,  that  wide  and 
continually  agitated  one,  whether  richness  of 
ornament  be  right  in  churches  at  all;  the  second, 
whether  the  ornament  of  St.  Mark's  be  of  a  truly 
ecclesiastical  and  Christian  character. 

§  LI.  In  the  first  chapter  of  the  "  Seven  Lamps 
of  Architecture"  I  endeavored  to  lay  before  the 
reader  some  reasons  why  churches  ought  to  be 
richly  adorned,  as  being  the  only  places  in 
which  the  desire  of  offering  a  portion  of  all 
precious  things  to  God  could  be  legitimately  ex- 
pressed. But  I  left  wholly  untouched  the  ques- 
tion: whether  the  church,  as  such,  stood  in 
need  of  adornment,  or  would  be  better  fitted  for 
its  purposes  by  possessing  it.  This  question  I 
would  now  ask  the  reader  to  deal  with  briefly 
and  candidly. 

The  chief  difficulty  in  deciding  it  has  arisen 
from  its  being  always  presented  to  us  in  an  un- 
fair form.  It  is  asked  of  us,  or  we  ask  of  our- 
selves, whether  the  sensation  which  we  now  feel 
in  passing  from  our  own  modern  dwelling-house, 

large  jewels,  will  be  found  in  Appendix  9,  "  Shafts  of  St. 
Mark's." 


162  THE    STONES   OF    VENICE. 

through  a  newly  built  street,  into  a  cathedral  of 
the  thirteenth  century,  be  safe  or  desirable  as  a 
preparation  for  public  worship.  But  we  never 
ask  whether  that  sensation  was  at  all  calculated 
upon  by  the  builders  of  the  cathedral. 

§  LIT.  Now  I  do  not  say  that  the  contrast  of 
the  ancient  with  the  modern  building,  and  the 
strangeness  with  which  the  earlier  architectural 
forms  fall  upon  the  eye,  are  at  this  day  disad- 
vantageous. But  I  do  say,  that  their  effect, 
whatever  it  may  be,  was  entirely  uncalculated 
upon  by  the  old  builder.  He  endeavored  to 
make  his  work  beautiful,  but  never  expected  it 
to  be  strange.  And  we  incapacitate  ourselves 
altogether  from  fair  judgment  of  its  intention,  if 
we  forget  that,  when  it  was  built,  it  rose  in  the 
midst  of  other  work  fanciful  and  beautiful  as  it- 
self; that  every  dwelling-house  in  the  middle 
ages  was  rich  with  the  same  ornaments  and 
quaint  with  the  same  grotesques  which  fretted 
the  porches  or  animated  the  gargoyles  of  the 
cathedral;  that  what  we  now  regard  with  doubt 
and  wonder,  as  well  as  with  delight,  was  then  the 
natural  continuation,  into  the  principal  edifice 
of  the  city,  of  a  style  which  was  familiar  to 
every  eye  throughout  all  its  lanes  and  streets; 
and  that  the  architect  had  often  no  more  idea 
of  producing  a  peculiarly  devotional  impression 
by  the  richest  color  and  the  most  elaborate 


ST.   MARK'S.  163 

carving,  than  the  builder  of  a  modern  meeting- 
house has  by  his  white-washed  walls  and  square- 
cut  casements.* 

§  LIU.  Let  the  reader  fix  this  great  fact  well 
in  his  mind,  and  then  follow  out  its  important 
corollaries.  We  attach,  in  modern  days,  a  kind 
of  sacredness  to  the  pointed  arch  and  the  groined 
roof,  because,  while  we  look  habitually  out  of 
square  windows  and  live  under  flat  ceilings,  we 
meet  with  the  more  beautiful  forms  in  the  ruins 
of  our  abbeys.  But  when  those  abbeys  were 
built,  the  pointed  arch  was  used  for  every  shop 
door,  as  well  as  for  that  of  the  cloister,  and  the 
feudal  baron  and  freebooter  feasted,  as  the  monk 
sang,  under  vaulted  roofs;  not  because  the 
vaulting  was  thought  especially  appropriate  to 
either  the  revel  or  psalm,  but  because  it  was  then 
the  form  in  which  a  strong  roof  was  easiest 
built.  We  have  destroyed  the  goodly  architect- 
ure of  our  cities;  we  have  substituted  one 
wholly  devoid  of  beauty  or  meaning;  and  then 
we  reason  respecting  the  strange  effect  upon  our 
minds  of  the  fragments  which,  fortunately,  we 
have  left  in  our  churches,  as  if  those  churches 
had  always  been  designed  to  stand  out  in  strong 
relief  from  all  the  buildings  around  them,  and 
Gothic  architecture  had  always  been,  what  it  is 

*  See  the  farther  notice  of  this  subject  in  Vol.  III., 
Chap.  IV.  Stones  of  Venice. 


164  THE   STONES  OF   VENICE. 

now,  a  religious  language,  like  Monkish  Latin. 
Most  readers  know,  if  they  would  arouse  their 
knowledge,  that  this  was  not  so;  but  they  take 
no  pains  to  reason  the  matter  out:  they  abandon 
themselves  drowsily  to  the  impression  that 
Gothic  is  a  peculiarly  ecclesiastical  style;  and 
sometimes,  even,  that  richness  in  church  orna- 
ment is  a  condition  or  furtherance  of  the  Ro- 
mish religion.  Undoubtedly  it  has  become  so  in 
modern  times:  for  there  being  no  beauty  in  our 
recent  architecture,  and  much  in  the  remains  of 
the  past,  and  these  remains  being  almost  exclu- 
sively ecclesiastical,  the  High  Church  and  Ro- 
manist parties  have  not  been  slow  in  availing 
themselves  of  the  natural  instincts  which  were 
deprived  of  all  food  except  from  this  source; 
and  have  willingly  promulgated  the  theory,  that 
because  all  the  good  architecture  that  is  now 
left  is  expressive  of  High  Church  or  Romanist 
doctrines,  all  good  architecture  ever  has  been 
and  must  be  so, — a  piece  of  absurdity  from 
which,  though  here  and  there  a  country  clergy- 
man may  innocently  believe  it,  I  hope  the  com- 
mon sense  of  the  nation  will  soon  manfully  quit 
itself.  It  needs  but  little  inquiry  into  the  spirit 
of  the  past,  to  ascertain  what,  once  for  all,  I 
would  desire  here  clearly  and  forcibly  to  assert, 
that  wherever  Christian  church  architecture  has 
been  good  and  lovely,  it  has  been  merely  the 


ST.    MARK'S.  165 

perfect  development  of  the  common  dwelling- 
house  architecture  of  the  period;  that  when  the 
pointed  arch  was  used  in  the  street,  it  was  used 
in  the  church;  when  the  round  arch  was  used  in 
in  the  street,  it  was  used  in  the  church;  when 
the  pinnacle  was  set  over  the  garret  window, 
it  was  set  over  the  belfry  tower;  when  the 
flat  roof  was  used  for  the  drawing-room,  it 
was  used  for  the  nave.  There  is  no  sacredness 
in  round  arches,  nor  in  pointed;  none  in  pin- 
nacles, nor  in  buttresses;  none  in  pillars,  nor 
traceries.  Churches  were  larger  than  in  most 
other  buildings,  because  they  had  to  hold  more 
people;  they  were  more  adorned  than  most 
other  buildings,  because  they  were  safer  from 
violence,  and  were  the  fitting  subjects  of  devo* 
tional  offering:  but  they  were  never  built  in 
any  separate,  mystical,  and  religious  style;  they 
were  built  in  the  manner  that  was  common 
and  familiar  to  everybody  at  the  time.  The 
flamboyant  traceries  that  adorn  the  facade  oi 
Rouen  Cathedral  had  once  their  fellows  in 
every  window  of  every  house  in  the  market- 
place;  the  sculptures  that  adorn  the  porches  ot 
St.  Mark's  had  once  their  match  on  the  walls, 
of  every  palace  on  the  Grand  Canal;  and  the 
only  difference  between  the  church  and  the 
dwelling-house  was,  that  there  existed  a  symboli- 
cal meaning  in  the  distribution  of  the  parts  oi 


1 66  THE   STONES  OF   VENICE. 

all  buildings  meant  for  worship,  and  that  the 
painting  or  sculpture  was,  in  the  one  case,  less 
frequently  of  profane  subject  than  in  the  other. 
A  more  severe  distinction  cannot  be  drawn:  for 
secular  history  was  constantly  introduced  into 
church  architecture;  and  sacred  history  or  allu- 
sion generally  formed  at  least  one  half  of  the 
ornament  of  the  dwelling-house. 

§  LIV.  This  fact  is  so  important,  and  so  little 
considered,  that  I  must  be  pardoned  for  dwell- 
ing upon  it  at  some  length,  and  accurately  mark- 
ing the  limits  of  the  assertion  I  have  made.  1 
do  not  mean  that  every  dwelling-house  of  medi- 
aeval cities  was  as  richly  adorned  and  as  ex- 
quisite in  composition  as  the  fronts  of  their  ca- 
thedrals, but  that  they  presented  features  of  the 
same  kind,  often  in  parts  quite  as  beautiful; 
and  that  the  churches  were  not  separated  by 
any  change  of  style  from  the  buildings  round 
them,  as  they  are  now,  but  were  merely  more 
finished  and  full  examples  of  a  universal  style, 
rising  out  of  the  confused  streets  of  the  city  as 
an  oak  tree  does  out  of  an  oak  copse,  not  differ- 
ing in  leafage,  but  in  size  and  symmetry.  Of 
course  the  quainter  and  smaller  forms  of  turret 
and  window  necessary  for  domestic  service,  the 
inferior  materials,  often  wood  instead  of  stone, 
and  the  fancy  of  the  inhabitants,  which  had  free 
play  in  the  design,  introduced  oddnesses,  vul- 


ST.    MARK'S.  167 

garities,  and  variations  into  house  architecture, 
which  were  prevented  by  the  traditions,  the 
wealth,  and  the  skill  of  the  monks  and  free- 
masons; while,  on  the  other  hand,  conditions  of 
vaulting,  buttressing,  and  arch  and  tower  build- 
ing, were  necessitated  by  the  mere  size  of  the 
cathedral,  of  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  find 
examples  elsewhere.  But  there  was  nothing 
more  in  these  features  than  the  adaptation  of 
mechanical  skill  to  vaster  requirements;  there 
was  nothing  intended  to  be,  or  felt  to  be,  espe- 
cially ecclesiastical  in^anyof  the  forms  so  devel- 
oped; and  the  inhabitants  of  every  village  and 
city,  when  they  furnished  funds  for  the  decora- 
tion of  their  church,  desired  merely  to  adorn 
the  house  of  God  as  they  adorned  their  own, 
only  a  little  more  richly,  and  with  a  somewhat 
graver  temper  in  the  subjects  of  the  carving. 
Even  this  last  difference  is  not  always  clearly 
discernible:  all  manner  of  ribaldry  occurs  in  the 
details  of  the  ecclesiastical  buildings  of  the 
North,  and  at  the  time  when  the  best  of  them 
were  built,  every  man's  house  was  a  kind  of 
temple;  a  figure  of  the  Madonna,  or  of  Christ, 
almost  always  occupied  a  niche  over  the  princi- 
pal door,  and  the  Old  Testament  histories  were 
curiously  interpolated  amidst  the  grotesques  of 
the  brackets  and  the  gables. 

§  LV.  And  the  reader  will  now  perceive  that 


1 68  THE   STONES   OF    VENICE. 

the  question  respecting  fitness  of  church  deco- 
ration rests  in  reality  on  totally  different  grounds 
from  those  commonly  made  foundations  of  argu- 
ment. So  long  as  our  streets  are  walled  with 
barren  brick,  and  our  eyes  rest  continually,  in 
our  daily  life,  on  objects  utterly  ugly,  or  oi 
inconsistent  and  meaningless  design,  it  may  be 
a  doubtful  question  whether  the  faculties  of 
eye  and  mind  which  are  capable  of  perceiving 
beauty,  having  been  left  without  food  during 
the  whole  of  our  active  life,  should  be  suddenly 
feasted  upon  entering  a  place  of  worship;  and 
color,  and  music,  and  sculpture  should  delight 
the  senses,  and  stir  the  curiosity  of  men  un- 
accustomed to  such  appeal,  at  the  moment  when 
they  are  required  to  compose  themselves  for 
acts  of  devotion; — this,  I  say,  may  be  a  doubt- 
ful question:  but  it  cannot  be  a  question  at  all, 
that  if  once  familiarized  with  beautiful  form  and 
color,  and  accustomed  to  see  in  whatever  human 
hands  have  executed  for  us,  even  for  the  lowest 
services,  evidence  of  noble  thought  and  admi- 
rable skill,  we  shall  desire  to  see  this  evidence 
also  in  whatever  is  built  or  labored  for  the  house 
of  prayer;  that  the  absence  of  the  accustomed 
loveliness  would  disturb  instead  of  assisting 
devotion;  and  that  we  should  feel  it  as  vain  to 
ask  whether,  with  our  own  house  full  of  goodly 
craftsmanship,  we  should  worship  God  in  a 


ST.    MARK'S.  169 

house  destitute  of  it,  as  to  ask  whether  a  pilgrim 
whose  day's  journey  had  led  him  through  fair 
woods  and  by  s^eet  waters,  must  at  evening 
turn  aside  into  some  barren  place  to  pray. 

§  LVI.  Then  the  second  question  submitted  to 
us,  whether  the  ornament  of  St.  Mark's  be  truly 
ecclesiastical  and  Christian,  is  evidently  deter- 
mined together  with  the  first;  for,  if  not  only 
the  permission  of  ornament  at  all,  but  the  beau- 
tiful execution  of  it,  be  dependent  on  our  being 
familiar  with  it  in  daily  life,  it  will  follow  that 
no  style  of  noble  architecture  can  be  exclusively 
ecclesiastical.  It  must  be  practised  in  the  dwell- 
ing before  it  be  perfected  in  the  church,  and 
it  is  the  test  of  a  noble  style  that  it  shall  be 
applicable  to  both;  for  if  essentially  false  and 
ignoble,  it  may  be  made  to  fit  the  dwelling- 
house,  but  never  can  be  made  to  fit  the  church : 
and  just  as  there  are  many  principles  which  will 
bear  the  light  of  the  world's  opinion,  yet  will 
nut  bear  the  light  of  God's  word,  while  all  prin- 
ciples which  will  bear  the  test  of  Scripture  will 
also  bear  that  of  practice,  so  in  architecture 
there  are  many  forms  which  expediency  and 
convenience  may  apparently  justify,  or  at  least 
render  endurable,  in  daily  use,  which  will  yet 
be  found  offensive  the  moment  they  are  used 
for  church  service;  but  there  are  none  good  for 
church  service,  which  cannot  bear  daily  use. 


170  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

Thus  the  Renaissance  manner  of  building  is  a 
convenient  style  for  dwelling-houses,  but  the 
natural  sense  of  all  religious  men  causes  them 
to  turn  from  it  with  pain  when  it  has  been  used 
in  churches;  and  this  has  given  rise  to  the  popu- 
lar idea  that  the  Roman  style  is  good  for  houses 
and  the  Gothic  for  churches.  This  is  not  so; 
the  Roman  style  is  essentially  base,  and  we  can 
bear  with  it  only  so  long  as  it  gives  us  conveni- 
ient  windows  and  spacious  rooms;  the  moment 
the  question  of  convenience  is  set  aside,  and  the 
expression  or  beauty  of  the  style  it  tried  by  its 
being  used  in  a  church,  we  find  it  fails.  But 
because  the  Gothic  and  Byzantine  styles  are 
fit  for  churches  they  are  not  therefore  less  fit 
for  dwellings.  They  are  in  the  highest  sense  fit 
and  good  for  both,  nor  were  they  ever  brought 
to  perfection  except  where  they  were  used  for 
both. 

§  LVII.  But  there  is  one  character  of  Byzan- 
tine work  which,  according  to  the  time  at  which 
it  was  employed,  may  be  considered  as  either 
fitting  or  unfitting  it  for  distinctly  ecclesiastical 
purposes;  I  mean  the  essentially  pictorial  char- 
acter of  its  decoration.  We  have  already  seen 
what  large  surfaces  it  leaves  void  of  bold  archi- 
tectural features,  to  be  rendered  interesting 
merely  by  surface  ornament  or  sculpture.  In 
this  respect  Byzantine  work  differs  essentially 


ST.    MARK'S.  I/I 

from  pure  Gothic  styles,  which  are  capable  of 
filling  every  vacant  space  by  features  purely 
architectural,  and  may  be  rendered,  if  we  please, 
altogether  independent  of  pictorial  aid.  A 
Gothic  church  may  be  rendered  impressive  by 
mere  successions  of  arches,  accumulations  of 
niches,  and  entanglements  of  tracery.  But  a 
Byzantine  church  requires  expression  and  in- 
teresting decoration  over  vast  plane  surfaces, — 
decoration  which  becomes  noble  only  by  be- 
coming pictorial;  that  is  to  say,  by  represent- 
ing natural  objects, — men,  animals,  or  flowers. 
And,  therefore,  the  question  whether  the  Byzan- 
tine style  be  fit  for  church  service  in  modern 
days,  becomes  involved  in  the  inquiry,  what 
effect  upon  religion  has  been  or  may  yet  be 
produced  by  pictorial  art,  and  especially  by 
the  art  of  the  mosaicist? 

§  LVIII.  The  more  I  have  examined  the  sub- 
ject the  more  dangerous  I  have  found  it  to 
dogmatize  respecting  the  character  of  the  art 
which  is  likely,  at  a  given  period,  to  be  most 
useful  to  the  cause  of  religion.  One  great  fact 
first  meets  me.  I  cannot  answer  for  the  ex- 
perience of  others,  but  I  never  yet  met  with  a 
Christian  whose  heart  was  thoroughly  set  upon 
the  world  to  come,  and,  so  far  as  human  judg- 
ment could  pronounce,  perfect  and  right  before 
God,  who  cared  about  art  at  all.  I  have  known 


1/2  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

several  very  noble  Christian  men  who  loved  it 
intensely,  but  in  them  there  was  always  trace- 
able some  entanglement  of  the  thoughts  with 
the  matters  of  this  world,  causing  them  to  fall 
into  strange  distresses  and  doubts,  and  often 
leading  them  into  what  they  themselves  would 
confess  to  be  errors  in  understanding,  or  even 
failures  in  duty.  I  do  not  say  that  these  men 
may  not,  many  of  them,  be  in  very  deed  nobler 
than  those  whose  conduct  is  more  consistent; 
they  may  be  more  tender  in  the  tone  of  all  their 
feelings,  and  farther-sighted  in  soul,  and  for 
that  very  reason  exposed  to  greater  trials  and 
fears,  than  those  whose  hardier  frame  and  natu- 
rally narrower  vision  enable  them  with  less 
effort  to  give  their  hands  to  God  and  walk  with 
Him.  But  still,  the  general  fact  is  indeed  so, 
that  I  have  never  known  a  man  who  seemed 
altogether  right  and  calm  in  faith,  who  seriously 
cared  about  art;  and  when  casually  moved  by 
it,  it  is  quite  impossible  to  say  beforehand  by 
what  class  of  art  this  impression  will  on  such 
men  be  made.  Very  often  it  is  by  a  theatrical 
commonplace,  more  frequently  still  by  false 
sentiment.  I  believe  that  the  four  painters  who 
have  had,  and  still  have,  the  most  influence, 
such  as  it  is,  on  the  ordinary  Protestant  Chris- 
tian mind,  are  Carlo  Dolci,  Guercino,  Benjamin 
West,  and  John  Martin.  Raphael,  much  as  he 


ST.    MARK'S.  173 

is  talked  about,  is,  I  believe  in  very  fact,  rarely 
looked  at  by  religious  people;  much  less  his 
master,  or  any  of  the  truly  great  religious  men 
of  old.  But  a  smooth  Magdalen  of  Carlo  Dolci 
with  a  tear  on  each  cheek,  or  a  Guercino  Christ 
or  St.  John,  or  a  Scripture  illustration  of  West's, 
or  a  black  cloud  with  a  flash  of  lightning  in  it 
of  Martin's,  rarely  jails  of  being  verily,  often 
deeply,  felt  for  the  time. 

LIX.  There  are  indeed  many  very  evident  rea- 
sons for  this;  the  chief  one  being  that,  as  all  truly 
great  religious  painters  have  been  hearty  Roman- 
ists, there  are  none  of  their  works  which  do  not 
embody,  in  some  portions  of  them,  definitely  Ro- 
manist doctrines.  The  Protestant  mind  is  in- 
stantly struck  by  these,  and  offended  by  them,  so 
as  to  be  incapable  of  entering,  or  at  least  rendered 
indisposed  to  enter,  farther  into  the  heart  of  the 
work,  or  to  the  discovering  those  deeper  charac- 
ters of  it,  which  are  not  Romanist,  but  Chris- 
tian, in  the  everlasting  sense  and  power  of  Chris- 
tianity. Thus  most  Protestants,  entering  for  the 
first  time  a  Paradise  of  Angelico,  would  be  irrevo- 
cably offended  by  finding  that  the  first  person 
the  painter  wished  them  to  speak  to  was  St.  Dom- 
inic; and  would  retire  from  such  a  heaven  as 
speedily  as  possible, — not  giving  themselves  time 
to  discover,  that  whether  dressed  in  black,  or 
white,  or  gray,  and  by  whatever  name  in  the 


1/4  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

calendar  they  might  be  called,  the  figures  that 
filled  that  Angelico  heaven  were  indeed  more 
saintly,  and  pure,  and  full  of  love  in  every  feat- 
ure, than  any  that  the  human  hand  ever  traced 
before  or  since.  And  thus  Protestantism,  hav- 
ing foolishly  sought  for  the  little  help  it  requires 
at  the  hand  of  painting  from  the  men  who  em- 
bodied no  Catholic  doctrine,  has  been  reduced 
to  receive  it  from  those  who  believed  neither 
Catholicism  nor  Protestantism,  but  who  read  the 
Bible  in  search  of  the  picturesque.  We  thus  re- 
fuse to  regard  the  painters  who  passed  their  lives 
in  prayer,  but  are  perfectly  ready  to  be  taught  by 
those  who  spent  them  in  debauchery.  There  is 
perhaps  no  more  popular  Protestant  picture  than 
Salvator's  "  Witch  of  Endor,"  of  which  the  sub- 
ject was  chosen  by  the  painter  simply  because, 
under  the  names  of  Saul  and  the  Sorceress,  he 
could  paint  a  captain  of  banditti,  and  a  Neapoli- 
tan hag. 

§  LIV.  The  fact  seems  to  be  that  strength  of 
religious  feeling  is  capable  of  supplying  for 
itself  whatever  is  wanting  in  the  rudest  sugges- 
tions of  art,  and  will  either,  on  the  one  hand, 
purify  what  is  coarse  into  inoffensiveness,  or,  on 
the  other,  raise  what  is  feeble  into  impressive- 
ness.  Probably  all  art,  as  such,  is  unsatisfactory 
to  it;  and  the  effort  which  it  makes  to  supply 
the  void  will  be  induced  rather  by  association 


ST.    MARK'S.  175 

and  accident  than  by  the  real  merit  of  the  work 
submitted  to  it.  The  likeness  to  a  beloved 
friend,  the  correspondence  with  a  habitual  con- 
ception, the  freedom  from  any  strange  or  offen- 
sive particularity,  and,  above  all,  an  interesting 
choice  of  incident,  will  win  admiration  for  a  pict- 
ure when  the  noblest  efforts  of  religious  imagi- 
nation would  otherwise  fail  of  power.  How 
much  more,  when  to  the  quick  capacity  of  emo- 
tion is  joined  a  childish  trust  that  the  picture 
does  indeed  represent  a  fact!  It  matters  little 
whether  the  fact  be  well  or  ill  told;  the  moment 
we  believe  the  picture  to  be  true,  we  complain 
little  of  its  being  ill-painted.  Let  it  be  consid- 
ered for  a  moment,  whether  the  child,  with  its 
colored  print,  inquiring  eagerly  and  gravely  which 
is  Joseph,  and  which  is  Benjamin,  is  not  more 
capable  of  receiving  a  strong,  even  a  sublime, 
impression  from  .the  rude  symbol  which  it  in- 
vests with  reality  by  its  own  effort,  than  the  con- 
noisseur who  admires  the  grouping  of  the  three 
figures  in  Raphael's  "Telling  of  the  Dreams;" 
and  whether  also,  when  the  human  mind  is  in 
right  religious  tone,  it  has  not  always  this  child- 
ish power — I  speak  advisedly,  this  power — a 
noble  one,  and  possessed  more  in  youth  than  at 
any  period  of  after  life,  but  always,  I  think,  re- 
stored in  a  measure  by  religion — of  raising  into 


176  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

sublimity  and  reality  the  rudest  symbol  which 
is  given  to  it  of  accredited  truth. 

§  LXI.  Ever  since  the  period  of  the  Renais- 
sance, however,  the  truth  has  not  been  accredi- 
ted; the  painter  of  religious  subject  is  no  longer 
regarded  as  the  narrator  of  a  fact,  but  as  the  in- 
ventor of  an  idea.*  We  do  not  severely  criti- 
cise the  manner  in  which  a  true  history  is  told> 
but  we  become  harsh  investigators  of  the  faults 
of  an  invention;  so  that  in  the  modern  religious 
mind,  the  capacity  of  emotion,  which  renders 
judgment  uncertain,  is  joined  with  an  incredulity 
which  renders  it  severe;  and  this  ignorant  emo- 
tion, joined  with  ignorant  observance  of  faults, 
is  the  worst  possible  temper  in  which  any  art  can 

*  I  do  not  mean  that  modern  Christians  believe  less  in 
ihe  facts  than  ancient  Christians,  but  they  do  not  believe 
in  the  representation  of  the  facts  as  true.  We  look  upon 
the  picture  as  this  or  that  painter's  conception ;  the  elder 
Christians  looked  upon  it  as  this  or  that  painter's  descrip- 
tion of  what  had  actually  taken  place.  And  in  the  Greek 
Church  all  painting  is,  to  this  day,  strictly  a  branch  of 
tradition.  See  M.  Dideron's  admirably  written  introduc- 
tion to  his  Iconographie  Chretienne,  p.  7: — "  Un  de  mes 
compagnons  s'6tonnait  de  re  trouver  a  la  Panagia  de  St. 
Luc,  le  saint  Jean  Chrysostome  qu'il  avait  dessine  dans  le 
baptistere  de  St.  Marc,  a  Venise.  Le  costume  des  per- 
sonnages  est  partout  et  en  tout  temps  le  meme,  non-seule- 
ment  pour  la  forme,  mais  pour  la  couleur,  mais  pour  le 
dessin,  mais  jusque  pour  le  nombre  et  le'paisseur  des 
plis." 


S7\    MARK'S.  1/7 

be  regarded,  but  more  especially  sacred  art. 
For  as  religious  faith  renders  emotion  facile,  so 
also  it  generally  renders  expression  simple;  that 
is  to  say  a  truly  religious  painter  will  very  often 
be  ruder,  quainter,  simpler,  and  more  faulty  in 
his  manner  of  working,  than  a  great  irreligious 
one.  And  it  was  in  this  artless  utterance,  and 
simple  acceptance,  on  the  part  of  both  the  work- 
man and  the  beholder,  that  all  noble  schools  of 
art  have  been  cradled;  it  is  in  them  that  they 
must  be  cradled  to  the  end  of  time.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  calculate  the  enormous  loss  of  power  in 
modern  days,  owing  to  the  imperative  require- 
ment that  art  shall  be  methodical  and  learned: 
for  as  long  as  the  constitution  of  this  world  re- 
mains unaltered,  there  will  be  more  intellect  in 
it  than  there  can  be  education;  there  will  be 
many  men  capable  of  just  sensation  and  vivid 
invention,  who  never  will  have  time  to  cultivate 
or  polish  their  natural  powers.  And  all  unpol- 
ished power  is  in  the  present  state  of  society 
lost;  in  other  things  as  well  as  in  the  arts,  but 
in  the  arts  especially:  nay,  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten,  people  mistake  the  polish  for  the  power. 
Until  a  man  has  passed  through  a  course  of 
academy  studentship,  and  can  draw  in  an  ap- 
proved manner  with  French  chalk,  and  knows 
foreshortening,  and  perspective,  and  something 
of  anatomy,  we  do  not  think  he  can  possibly  be 


178  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

an  artist;  what  is  worse,  we  are  very  apt  to 
think  that  we  can  make  him  an  artist  by  teach- 
ing him  anatomy,  and  how  to  draw  with  French 
chalk;  whereas  the  real  gift  in  him  is  utterly 
independent  of  all  such  accomplishments:  and  I 
believe  there  are  many  peasants  on  every  estate,, 
and  laborers  in  every  town  of  Europe,  who  have 
imaginative  powers  of  a  high  order,  which  never- 
theless cannot  be  used  for  our  good,  because  we 
do  not  choose  to  look  at  anything  but  what  is 
expressed  in  a  legal  and  scientific  way.  I  be- 
lieve there  is  many  a  village  mason  who,  set  to 
carve  a  series  of  Scripture  or  any  other  histories, 
would  find  many  a  strange  and  noble  fancy  in 
his  head,  and  set  it  down,  roughly  enough  in- 
deed, but  in  a  way  well  worth  our  having.  But 
we  are  too  grand  to  let  him  do  this,  or  to  set  up 
his  clumsy  work  when  it  is  done;  and  accord- 
ingly the  poor  stone-mason  is  kept  hewing  stones 
smooth  at  the  corners,  and  we  build  our  church 
of  the  smooth  square  stones,  and  consider  our- 
selves wise. 

§  LXII.  I  shall  pursue  this  subject  farther  in 
another  place;  but  I  allude  to  it  here  in  order 
to  meet  the  objections  of  those  persons  who 
suppose  the  mosaics  of  St.  Mark's,  and  others  of 
the  period,  to  be  utterly  barbarous  as  represen- 
tations of  religious  history.  Let  it  be  granted 
that  they  are  so;  we  are  not  for  that  reason  to 


ST.    MARK'S.  179 

suppose  they  were  ineffective  in  religious  teach- 
ing. I  have  above  spoken  of  the  whole  church 
as  a  great  Book  of  Common  Prayer;  the  mosaics 
were  its  illuminations,  and  the  common  peo- 
ple of  the  time  were  taught  their  Scripture  his- 
tory by  means  of  them,  more  impressively  per- 
haps, though  far  less  fully,  than  ours  are  now  by 
Scripture  reading.  They  had  no  other  Bible, 
and — Protestants  do  not  often  enough  consider 
this — ceutdhave  no  other.  We  find  it  somewhat 
difficult  to  furnish  our  poor  with  printed  Bibles; 
consider  what  the  difficulty  must  have  been  when 
they  could  be  given  only  in  manuscript.  The 
walls  of  the  church  necessarily  became  the  poor 
man's  Bible,  and  a  picture  was  more  easily  read 
upon  the  walls  than  a  chapter.  Under  this 
view,  and  considering  them  merely  as  the  Bible 
pictures  of  a  great  nation  in  its  youth,  I  shall 
finally  invite  the  reader  to  examine  the  connec- 
tion and  subjects  of  these  mosaics;  but  in  the 
meantime  I  have  to  deprecate  the  idea  of  their 
execution  being  in  any  sense  barbarous.  I  have 
conceded  too  much  to  modern  prejudice,  in 
permitting  them  to  be  rated  as  mere  childish 
efforts  at  colored  portraiture  :  they  have  charac- 
ters in  them  of  a  very  noble  kind;  nor  are  they 
by  any  means  devoid  of  the  remains  of  the  sci- 
ence of  the  later  Roman  empire.  The  character 
of  the  features  is  almost  always  fine,  the  expres- 


180  THE   STONES  OF   VENICE. 

sion  stern  and  quiet,  and  very  solemn,  the  atti- 
tudes and  draperies  always  majestic  in  the  single 
figures,  and  in  those  of  the  groups  which  are  not 
in  violent  action;*  while  the  bright  coloring  and 
disregard  of  chiaroscuro  cannot  be  regarded  as 
imperfections,  since  they  are  the  only  means  by 
which  the  figures  could  be  rendered  clearly  in- 
telligible in  the  distance  and  darkness  of  the 
vaulting.  So  far  am  I  from  considering  them 
barbarous,  that  1  believe  of  all  works  of  religi- 
ous art  whatsoever,  these,  and  such  as  these, 
have  been  the  most  effective.  They  stand  ex- 
actly midway  between  the  debased  manufacture 
of  wooden  and  waxen  images  which  is  the  sup- 
port of  Romanist  idolatry  all  over  the  world, 
and  the  great  art  which  leads  the  mind  away 
from  the  religious  subject  to  the  art  itself.  Re- 
specting neither  of  these  branches  of  human 
skill  is  there,  nor  can  there  be,  any  question. 
The  manufacture  of  puppets,  however  influential 

*  All  the  effects  of  Byzantine  art  to  represent  violent 
action  are  inadequate,  most  of  them  ludicrously  so,  even 
when  the  sculptural  art  is  in  other  respects  far  advanced. 
The  early  Gothic  sculptors,  on  the  other  hand,  fail  in  all 
points  of  refinement,  but  hardly  ever  in  expression  of  ac- 
tion. This  distinction  is  of  course  one  of  the  necessary 
consequences  of  the  difference  in  all  respects  between  the 
repose  of  the  Eastern,  and  activity  of  the  Western  mind, 
which  we  shall  have  to  trace  out  completely  in  the  inquiry 
into  the  nature  of  Gothic. 


ir.    MARK'S.  l8l 

on  the  Romanist  inind  of  Europe,  is  certainly 
not  deserving  of  consideration  as  one  of  the 
fine  arts.  It  matters  literally  nothing  to  a 
Romanist  what  the  image  he  worships  is  like. 
Take  the  vilest  doll  that  is  screwed  together  in  a 
cheap  toy-shop,  trust  it  to  the  keeping  of  a  large 
family  of  children,  let  it  be  beaten  about  the  house 
by  them  till  it  is  reduced  to  a  shapeless  block, 
then  dress  it  in  a  satin  frock  and  declare  it  to 
have  fallen  from  heaven,  and  it  will  satisfactorily 
answer  all  Romanist  purposes.  Idolatry,*  it 
cannot  be  too  often  repeated,  is  no  encourager 
of  the  fine  arts.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
highest  branches  of  the  fine  arts  are  no  encour- 
agers  either  of  idolatry  or  of  religion.  No  pict- 
ure of  Leonardo's  or  Raphael's,  no  statue  of 
Michael  Angelo's,  has  ever  been  worshipped, 
except  by  accident.  Carelessly  regarded,  and 
by  ignorant  persons,  there  is  less  to  attract  in 
them  than  in  commoner  works.  Carefully  re- 
garded, and  by  intelligent  persons,  they  instantly 
divert  the  mind  from  their  subject  to  their  art, 
so  that  admiration  takes  the  place  of  devotion. 
I  do  not  say  that  the  Madonna  di  S.  Sisto,  the 
Madonna  del  Cardellino,  and  such  others,  have 
not  had  considerable  religious  influence  on  cer- 
tain minds,  but  I  say  that  on  the  mass  of  the 

*  Appendix  x,  "  Proper  Sense  of  the  word  Idolatry." 


1 82  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

people  of  Europe  they  have  had  none  whatever; 
while  by  far  the  greater  number  of  the  most 
celebrated  statues  and  pictures  are  never  re- 
garded with  any  other  feelings  than  those  of 
admiration  of  human  beauty,  or  reverence  for 
human  skill.  Effective  religious  art,  therefore, 
has  always  lain,  and  I  believe  must  always  lie, 
between  the  two  extremes — of  barbarous  idol- 
fashioning  on  one  side,  and  magnificent  crafts- 
manship on  the  other.  It  consists  partly  in 
missal-painting,  and  such  book-illustrations  as, 
since  the  invention  of  printing,  have  taken  its 
place;  partly  in  glass-painting;  partly  in  rude 
sculpture  on  the  outsides  of  buildings;  partly  in 
mosaics;  and  partly  in  the  frescoes  and  tempera 
pictures  which,  in  the  fourteenth  century,  formed 
the  link  between  this  powerful,  because  imper- 
fect, religious  art,  and  the  impotent  perfection 
which  succeeded  it. 

§  LXIII.  But  of  all  these  branches  the  most 
important  are  the  inlaying  and  mosaic  of  the 
twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  represented  in 
a  central  manner  by  these  mosaics  of  St.  Mark's. 
Missal-painting  could  not,  from  its  minuteness, 
produce  the  same  sublime  impressions,  and  fre- 
quently merged  itself  in  mere  ornamentation  of 
the  page.  Modern  book-illustration  has  been 
so  little  skilful  as  hardly  to  be  worth  naming. 
Sculpture,  though  in  some  positions  it  becomes 


ST.    MARK'S.  183 

of  great  importance,  has  always  a  tendency  to 
lose  itself  in  architectural  effect;  and  was  prob- 
ably seldom  deciphered,  in  all  its  parts,  by  the 
common  people,  still  less  the  traditions  annealed 
in  the  purple  burning  of  the  painted  window. 
Finally,  tempera  pictures  and  frescoes  were  often 
of  limited  size  or  of  feeble  color.  But  the  great 
mosaics  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries 
covered  the  walls  and  roofs  of  the  churches  with 
inevitable  lustre;  they  could  not  be  ignored  or 
escaped  from;  their  size  rendered  them  majes- 
tic, their  distance  mysterious,  their  color  attrac- 
tive. They  did  not  pass  into  confused  or  infe- 
rior decorations;  neither  were  they  adorned  with 
any  evidences  of  skill  or  science,  such  as  might 
withdraw  the  attention  from  their  subjects. 
They  were  before  the  eyes  of  the  devotee  at 
every  interval  of  his  worship;  vast  shadowings 
forth  of  scenes  to  whose  realization  he  looked 
forward,  or  of  spirits  whose  presence  he  invoked. 
And  the  man  must  be  little  capable  of  receiving 
a  religious  impression  of  any  kind,  who,  to  this 
day,  does  not  acknowledge  some  feeling  of  awe, 
as  he  looks  up  at  the  pale  countenances  and 
ghastly  forms  which  haunt  the  dark  roofs  of  the 
Baptisteries  of  Parma  and  Florence,  or  remains 
altogether  untouched  by  the  majesty  of  the  co- 
lossal images  of  apostles,  and  of  Him  who  sent 


1 84  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

apostles,  that  look  down  from  the  darkening  gold 
of  the  domes  of  Venice  and  Pisa. 

§  LXIV.  I  shall,  in  a  future  portion  of  this  work, 
endeavor  to  discover  what  probabilities  there 
are  of  our  being  able  to  use  this  kind  of  art  in 
modern  churches ;  but  at  present  it  remains 
for  us  to  follow  out  the  connection  of  the  sub- 
jects represented  in  St.  Mark's  so  as  to  fulfil  our 
immediate  object,  and  form  an  adequate  concep- 
tion of  the  feelings  of  its  builders,  and  of  its 
uses  to  those  for  whom  it  was  built. 

Now,  there  is  one  circumstance  to  which  I 
must,  in  the  outset,  direct  the  reader's  special 
attention,  as  forming  a  notable  distinction  be- 
tween ancient  and  modern  days.  Our  eyes  are 
now  familiar  and  wearied  with  writing ;  and  if 
an  inscription  is  put  upon  a  building,  unless  it 
be  large  and  clear,  it  is  ten  to  one  whether  we 
ever  trouble  ourselves  to  decipher  it.  But  the 
old  architect  was  sure  of  readers.  He  knew 
that  every  one  would  be  glad  to  decipher  all 
that  he  wrote;  that  they  would  rejoice  in  pos- 
sessing the  vaulted  leaves  of  his  stone  manu- 
script; and  that  the  more  he  gave  them,  the 
more  grateful  would  the  people  be.  We  must 
take  some  pains,  therefore,  when  we  enter  St. 
Mark's,  to  read  all  that  is  inscribed,  or  we  shall 
not  penetrate  into  the  feeling  either  of  the 
builder  or  of  his  times. 


ST.    MARK'S.  185 

§  LXV.  A  large  atrium  or  portico  is  attached  to 
two  sides  of  the  church,  a  space  which  was  espe- 
cially reserved  for  unbaptized  persons  and  new 
converts.  It  was  thought  right  that,  before  their 
baptism,  these  persons  should  be  led  to  contem- 
plate the  great  facts  of  the  Old  Testament  his- 
tory; the  history  of  the  Fall  of  Man,  and  of  the 
lives  of  Patriarchs  up  to  the  period  of  the  Cove- 
nant by  Moses:  the  order  of  the  subjects  in  this 
series  being  very  nearly  the  same  as  in1  many 
Northern  churches,  but  significantly  closing  with 
the  Fall  of  the  Manna,  in  order  to  mark  to  the 
catechumen  the  insufficiency  of  the  Mosaic  cove- 
nant for  salvation, — "  Our  fathers  did  eat 
manna  in  the  wilderness,  and  are  dead," — and  to 
turn  his  thoughts  to  the  true  Bread  of  which  the 
manna  was  the  type. 

§  LXVI.  Then,  when  after  his  baptism  he  was 
permitted  to  enter  the  church,  over  its  main  en- 
trance he  saw,  on  looking  back,  a  mosaic  of 
Christ  enthroned,  with  the  Virgin  on  one  side 
and  St.  Mark  on  the  other,  in  attitudes  of  adora- 
tion. Christ  is  represented  as  holding  a  book 
open  upon  his  knee,  on  which  is  written:  "  I  AM 

THE  DOOR;  BY  ME  IF  ANY  MAN  ENTER  IN,  HE 

SHALL  BE  SAVED."     On  the  red   marble  mould- 
ing which  surrounds  the  mosaic  is  written:  "I 

AM    THE    GATE    OF    LIFE;    LET     THOSE    WHO    ARE 

MINE  ENTER  BY  ME."    Above,  on  the  red  marble 


1 86  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

fillet  which  forms  the  cornice  of  the  west  end  of 
the  church,  is  written,  with  reference  to  the  fig- 
ure of  Christ  below:  "  WHO  HE  WAS,  AND  FROM 

WHOM  HE  CAME,  AND  AT  WHAT  PRICE  HE  RE- 
DEEMED THEE,  AND  WHY  HE  MADE  THEE,  AND 
GAVE  THEE  ALL  THINGS,  DO  THOU  CONSIDER." 

Now  observe,  this  was  not  to  be  seen  and 
read  only  by  the  catechumen  when  he  first  en- 
tered the  church;  every  one  who  at  any  time 
entered,  was  supposed  to  look  back  and  to  read 
this  writing;  their  daily  entrance  into  the  church 
was  thus  made  a  daily  memorial  of  their  first 
entrance  into  the  spiritual  Church;  and  we  shall 
find  that  the  rest  of  the  book  which  was  opened 
for  them  upon  its  walls  continually  led  them  in 
the  same  manner  to  regard  the  visible  temple  as 
in  every  part  a  type  of  the  invisible  Church  of 
God. 

§  LXVII.  Therefore  the  mosaic  of  the  first 
dome,  which  is  over  the  head  of  the  spectator 
as  soon  as  he  has  entered  by  the  great  door 
(that  door  being  the  type  of  baptism),  represents 
the  effusion  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  as  the  first  conse- 
quence and  seal  of  the  entrance  into  the  Church 
of  God.  In  the  centre  of  the  cupola  is  the  Dove, 
enthroned  in  the  Greek  manner,  as  the  Lamb 
is  enthroned,  when  the  Divinity  of  the  Sec- 
ond and  Third  Persons  is  to  be  insisted  upon 
together  with  their  peculiar  offices.  From  the 


57'.    MARK'S.  IS/ 

central  symbol  of  the  Holy  Spirit  twelve  streams 
of  fire  descend  upon  the  heads  of  the  twelve 
apostles,  who  are  represented  standing  around 
the  dome;  and  below  them,  between  the  win- 
dows which  are  pierced  in  its  walls,  are  repre- 
sented, by  groups  of  two  figures  for  each  sepa- 
rate people,  the  various  nations  who  heard  the 
apostles  speak,  at  Pentecost,  every  man  in  his 
own  tongue.  Finally,  on  the  vaults,  at  the  four 
angles  which  support  the  cupola,  are  pictured^ 
four  angels,  each  bearing  a  tablet  upon  the  end 
of  a  rod  in  his  hand:  on  each  of  the  tablets  of 
the  three  first  angels  is  inscribed  the  word 
"Holy;"  on  that  of  the  fourth  is  written 
"Lord;"  and  the  beginning  of  the  hymn  being 
thus  put  into  the  mouths  of  the  four  angels, 
the  words  of  it  are  continued  around  the  border 
of  the  dome,  uniting  praise  to  God  for  the  gift 
of  the  Spirit,  with  welcome  to  the  redeemed 
soul  received  into  His  Church: 

"  HOLY,  HOLY,  HOLY,  LORD  GOD  OF  SABAOTH  : 
HEAVEN  AND  EARTH  ARE  FULL  OF  THY  GLORY. 

HOSANNA  IN  THE  HIGHEST  : 
BLESSED  is  HE  THAT  COMETH  IN  THE  NAME  OF  THE  LORD.  " 

And  observe  in  this  writing  that  the  convert 
is  required  to  regard  the  outpouring  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  especially  as  a  work  of  sanctification. 
It  is  the  holiness  of  God  manifested  in  the  giving 


1 88  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

of  His  Spirit  to  sanctify  those  who  had  become 
His  children,  which  the  four  angels  celebrate  in 
their  ceaseless  praise;  and  it  is  on  account  of 
this  holiness  that  the  heaven  and  earth  are  said 
to  be  full  of  His  glory. 

§  LXVIII.  After  thus  hearing  praise  rendered 
to  God  by  the  angels  for  the  salvation  of  the 
newly-entered  soul,  it  was  thought  fittest  that 
the  worshipper  should  be  led  to  contemplate,  in 
the  most  comprehensive  forms  possible,  the  past 
evidence  and  the  future  hopes  of  Christianity,, 
as  summed  up  in  three  facts  without  assurance 
of  which  all  faith  is  vain;  namely  that  Christ 
died,  that  He  rose  again,  and  that  He  ascended 
into  heaven,  there  to  prepare  a  place  for  His 
elect.  On  the  vault  between  the  first  and  sec- 
ond cupolas  are  represented  the  crucifixion  and 
resurrection  of  Christ,  with  the  usual  series  of 
intermediate  scenes, — the  treason  of  Judas,  the 
judgment  of  Pilate,  the  crowning  with  thorns, 
the  descent  into  Hades,  the  visit  of  the  women 
to  the  sepulchre,  and  the  apparition  to  Man- 
Magdalene.  The  second  cupola  itself,  which  is 
the  central  and  principal  one  of  the  church,  is 
entirely  occupied  by  the  subject  of  the  Ascen- 
sion. At  the  highest  point  of  it  Christ  is  repre- 
sented as  rising  into  the  blue  heaven,  borne  up 
by  four  angels,  and  throned  upon  a  rainbow,  the 
type  of  reconciliation.  Beneath  him,  the  twelve 


57^.    MARK'S.  189 

apostles  are  seen  upon  the  Mount  of  Olives, 
with  the  Madonna,  and,  in  the  midst  of  them, 
the  two  men  in  white  apparel  who  appeared 
at  the  moment  of  the  Ascension,  above  whom, 
as  uttered  by  them,  are  inscribed  the  words, 
"  Ye  men  of  Galilee,  why  stand  ye  gazing  up 
into  heaven  ?  This  Christ,  the  Son  of  God,  as 
He  is  taken  from  you,  shall  so  come,  the  arbiter 
of  the  earth,  trusted  to  do  judgment  and  justice." 

§  LXIX.  Beneath  the  circle  of  the  apostles, 
between  the  windows  of  the  cupola,  are  repre- 
sented the  Christian  virtues,  as  sequent  upon  the 
crucifixion  of  the  flesh,  and  the  spiritual  ascen- 
sion together  with  Christ.  Beneath  them,  on 
the  vaults  which  support  the  angles  of  the 
cupola,  are  placed  the  four  Evangelists,  because 
on  their  evidence  our  assurance  of  the  fact  of 
the  ascension  rests  ;  and,  finally,  beneath  their 
feet,  as  symbols  of  the  sweetness  and  fulness  of 
the  Gospel  which  they  declared,  are  represented 
the  four  rivers  of  Paradise,  Pison,  Gihon,  Ti- 
gris, and  Euphrates. 

§  LXX.  The  third  cupola,  that  over  the  altar, 
represents  the  witness  of  the  Old  Testament  to 
Christ;  showing  him  enthroned  in  its  centre, 
and  surrounded  by  the  patriarchs  and  prophets. 
But  this  dome  was  little  seen  by  the  people;* 

*  It  is  also  of  inferior  workmanship,  and  perhaps  later 
than  the  rest.  Vide  Lor-d  Lindsay,  vol.  i.  p.  124,  note. 


190  THE   STONES   OF    VENICE. 

their  contemplation  was  intended  to  be  chiefly 
drawn  to  that  of  the  centre  of  the  church,  and 
thus  the  mind  of  the  worshipper  was  at  once 
fixed  on  the  main  groundwork  and  hope  of 
Christianity, — "  Christ  is  risen,"  and  "  Christ 
shall  come."  If  he  had  time  to  explore  the 
minor  lateral  chapels  and  cupolas,  he  could  find 
in  them  the  whole  series  of  New  Testament  his- 
tory, the  events  of  the  Life  of  Christ,  and  the 
Apostolic  miracles  in  their  order,  and  finally  the 
scenery  of  the  Book  of  Revelation;*  but  if  he 
only  entered,  as  often  the  common  people  do  to 
this  hour,  snatching  a  few  moments  before  be- 
ginning the  labor  of  the  day  to  offer  up  an  ejac- 
ulatory  prayer,  and  advanced  but  from  the 
main  entrance  as  far  as  the  altar  screen,  all  the 
splendor  of  the  glittering  nave  and  variegated 
dome,  if  they  smote  upon  his  heart,  as  they 
might  often,  in  strange  contrast  with  his  reed 
cabin  among  the  shallows  of  the  lagoon,  smote 
upon  it  only  that  they  might  proclaim  the  two 
great  messages—"  Christ  is  risen,"  and  "  Christ 
shall  come."  Daily,  as  the  white  cupolas  rose 
like  wreaths  of  sea-foam  in  the  dawn,  while  the 

*  The  old  mosaics  from  the  Revelation  have  perished, 
and  have  been  replaced  by  miserable  work  of  the  seven- 
teenth century. 


ST.    MARK'S.  Ipl 

shadowy  campanile  and  frowning  palace  were 
still  withdrawn  into  the  night,  they  rose  with 
the  Easter  Voice  of  Triumph, — "  Christ  is 
risen;"  and  daily,  as  they  looked  down  upon 
the  tumult  of  the  people,  deepening  and  eddy- 
ing in  the  wide  square  that  opened  from  their 
feet  to  the  sea,  they  uttered  above  them  the 
sentence  of  warning, — "Christ  shall  come." 

§  LXXI.  And  this  thought  may  surely  dispose 
the  reader  to  look  with  some  change  of  temper 
upon  the  gorgeous  building  and  wild  blazonry  of 
that  shrine  of  St.  Mark's.  He  now  perceives  that 
it  was  in  the  hearts  of  the  old  Venetian  people  far 
more  than  a  place  of  worship.  It  was  at  once 
a  type  of  the  Redeemed  Church  of  God,  and  a 
scroll  for  the  written  word  of  God.  It  was  to 
be  to  them,  both  an  image  of  the  Bride,  all 
glorious  within,  her  clothing  of  wrought  gold; 
and  the  actual  Table  of  the  Law  and  the  Testi- 
mony, written  within  and  without.  And  whether 
honored  as  the  Church  or  as  the  Bible,  was  it 
not  fitting  that  neither  the  gold  nor  the  crystal 
should  be  spared  in  the  adornment  of  it;  that, 
as  the  symbol  of  the  Bride,  the  building  of  the 
wall  thereof  should  be  of  jasper,*  and  the  founda- 
tions of  it  garnished  with  all  manner  of  precious 

*  Rev.  xxi.  1 8. 


I92  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

stones;  and  that,  as  the  channel  of  the  World, 
that  triumphant  utterance  of  the  Psalmist  should 
be  true  of  it, — "  I  have  rejoiced  in  the  way  of 
thy  testimonies,  as  much  as  in  all  riches  "  ?  And 
shall  we  not  look  with  changed  temper  down 
the  long  perspective  of  St.  Mark's  Place  towards 
the  sevenfold  gates  and  glowing  domes  of  its 
temple,  when  we  know  with  what  solemn  pur- 
pose the  shafts  of  it  were  lifted  above  the  pave- 
ment of  the  populous  square  ?  Men  met  there 
from  all  countries  of  the  earth,  for  traffic  or  for 
pleasure;  but,  above  the  crowd  swaying  for  ever 
to  and  fro  in  the  restlessness  of  avarice  or  thirst 
of  delight,  was  seen  perpetually  the  glory  of  the 
temple,  attesting  to  them,  whether  they  would 
hear  or  whether  they  would  forbear,  that  there 
was  one  treasure  which  the  merchantmen  might 
buy  without  a  price,  and  one  delight  better  than 
all  others,  in  the  word  and  the  statutes  of  God. 
Not  in  the  wantonness  of  wealth,  not  in  vain  min- 
istry to  the  desire  of  the  eyes  or  the  pride  of 
life,  were  those  marbles  hewn  into  transparent 
strength,  and  those  arches  arrayed  in  the  colors 
of  the  iris.  There  is  a  message  written  in  the  dyes 
of  them,  that  once  was  written  in  blood;  and  a 
sound  in  the  echoes  of  their  vaults,  that  one  day 
shall  fill  the  vault  of  heaven, — "  He  shall  return, 
to  do  judgment  and  justice."  The  strength  of 


ST.   MARK'S.  193 

Venice  was  given  her,  so  long  as  she  remem- ' 
bered  this:  her  destruction  found  her  when  she 
had  forgotten  this;  and  it  found  her  irrevoca- 
bly, because  she  forgot  it  without  excuse.  Never 
had  city  a  more  glorious  Bible.  Among  the 
nations  of  the  North,  a  rude  and  shadowy  sculp- 
ture filled  their  temples  with  confused  and 
hardly  legible  imagery;  but,  for  her,  the  skill 
and  the  treasures  of  the  East  had  gilded  every 
letter,  and  illumined  every  page,  till  the  Book- 
Temple  shone  from  afar  off  like  the  star  of  the 
Magi.  In  other  cities,  the  meetings  of  the  peo- 
ple were  often  in  places  withdrawn  from  re- 
ligious association,  subject  to  violence  and  to 
change;  and  on  the  grass  of  the  dangerous  ram- 
part, and  in  the  dust  of  the  troubled  street, 
there  were  deeds  done  and  counsels  taken, 
which,  if  we  cannot  justify,  we  may  sometimes 
forgive.  But  the  sins  of  Venice,  whether  in  her 
palace  or  in  her  piazza,  were  done  with  the 
Bible  at  her  right  hand.  The  walls  on  which  its 
testimony  was  written  were  separated  but  by  a 
few  inches  of  marble  from  those  which  guarded 
the  secrets  of  her  councils,  or  confined  the  vic- 
tims of  her  policy.  And  when  in  her  last  hours 
she  threw  off  all  shame  and  all  restraint,  and  the 
great  square  of  the  city  became  filled  with  the 
madness  of  the  whole  earth,  be  it  remembered 


194 


THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 


how  much  her  sin  was  greater,  because  it  was 
done  in  the  face  of  the  House  of  God,  burning 
with  the  letters  of  His  Law.  Mountebank  and 
masker  laughed  their  laugh,  and  went  their  way; 
and  a  silence  has  followed  them,  not  unfo retold; 
for  amidst  them  all,  through  century  after  cen- 
tury of  gathering  vanity  and  festering  guilt,  that 
white  dome  of  St.  Mark's  had  uttered  in  the 
dead  ear  of  Venice,  "  Know  thou,  that  for  all 
these  things  God  will  bring  thee  into  judgment." 


CHAPTER   V. 


THE    DUCAL    PALACE. 

§  i.  IT  was  stated  in  the  commencement  of 
the  preceding  chapter  that  the  Gothic  art  of 
Venice  was  separated  by  the  building  of  the 
Ducal  Palace  into  two  distinct  periods;  and  that 
in  all  the  domestic  edifices  which  were  raised 
for  half  a  century  after  its  completion,  their 
characteristic  and  chiefly  effective  portions  were 
more  or  less  directly  copied  from  it.  The  fact 
is,  that  the  Ducal  Palace  was  the  great  work  of 
Venice  at  this  period,  itself  the  principal  effort 
of  her  imagination,  employing  her  best  archi- 
tects in  its  masonry,  and  her  best  painters  in  its 
decoration,  for  a  long  series  of  years;  and  we 
must  receive  it  as  a  remarkable  testimony  to  the 
influence  which  it  possessed  over  the  minds  of 
those  who  saw  it  in  its  progress,  that,  while  in 
the  other  cities  of  Italy  every  palace  and  church 
was  rising  in  some  original  and  daily  more  dar- 

195 


196  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

ing  form,  the  majesty  of  this  single  building  was 
able  to  give  pause  to  the  Gothic  imagination  in 
its  full  career;  stayed  the  restlessness  of  innova- 
tion in  an  instant,  and  forbade  the  powers  which 
had  created  it  thenceforth  to  exert  themselves  in 
new  directions,  or  endeavor  to  summon  an  image 
more  attractive. 

§  ii.  The  reader  will  hardly  believe  that  while 
the  architectural  invention  of  the  Venetians  was 
thus  lost,  Narcissus-like,  in  self-contemplation, 
the  various  accounts  of  the  progress  of  the 
building  thus  admired  and  beloved  are  so  con- 
fused as  frequently  to  leave  it  doubtful  to  what 
portion  of  the  palace  they  refer;  and  that  there 
is  actually,  at  the  time  being,  a  dispute  between 
the  best  Venetian  antiquaries,  whether  the  main 
facade  of  the  palace  be  of  the  fourteenth  or  fif- 
teenth century.  The  determination  of  this  ques- 
tion is  of  course  necessary  before  we  proceed  to 
draw  any  conclusions  from  the  style  of  the  work; 
and  it  cannot  be  determined  without  a  careful 
review  of  the  entire  history  of  the  palace,  and  of 
all  the  documents  relating  to  it.  I  trust  that 
this  review  may  not  be  found  tedious, — assuredly1" 
it  will  not  be  fruitless, — bringing  many  facts  be- 
fore us,  singularly  illustrative  of  the  Venetian 
character. 

§  in.  Before,  however,  the  reader  can  enter 
upon  any  inquiry  into  the  history  of  this  build- 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  197 

ing,  it  is  necessary  that  he  should  be  thoroughly 
familiar  with  the  arrangement  and  names  of  its 
principal  parts,  as  it  at  present  stands;  other- 
wise he  cannot  comprehend  so  much  as  a  single 
sentence  of  any  of  the  documents  referring  to 
it.  I  must  do  what  I  can,  by  the  help  of  a  rough 
plan  and  bird's-eye  view,  to  give  him  the  neces- 
sary topographical  knowledge: 

Opposite  is  a  rude  ground  plan  of  the  build- 
ings round  St.  Mark's  Place;  and  the  following 
references  will  clearly  explain  their  relative  po- 
sitions: 


A.  St.  Mark's  Place. 

B.  Piazzetta. 

P.  V.  Procuratie  Vecchie. 

P.  N.  (opposite)  Procuratie  Nuove. 

P.  L.  Libreria  Vecchia. 

I.   Piazzetta  de'  Leoni. 

T.  Tower  of  St.  Mark. 

F  F.   Great  Fa£ade  of  St.  Mark's  Church. 

M.  St.  Mark's.  (It  is  so  united  with  the  Ducal  Palace, 
that  the  separation  cannot  be  indicated  in  the 
plan,  unless  all  the  walls  had  been  marked, 
which  would  have  confused  the  whole.) 

D  D  D.   Ducal  Palace.  g  s.  Giant's  stair. 

C.  Court  of  Ducal  Palace.  J.  Judgment  angle, 
c.  Porta  della  Carta.  a.  Fig-tree  angle. 

p  p.  Ponte  della  Paglia  (Bridge  of  Straw). 
S.   Ponte  de'  Sospiri  (Bridge  of  Sighs). 
R  R.   Riva  de'  Schiavoni. 


198 


THE   STONES   OF    VENICE. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


199 


The  reader  will  observe  that  the  Ducal  Palace 
is  arranged  somewhat  in  the  form  of  a  hollow 


square,  of  which  one  side  faces  the  Piazzetta,  B, 
and  another  the  quay  called  the  Riva  de'  Schia- 


200  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

voni,  R  R;  the  third  is  on  the  dark  canal  called 
the  "  Rio  del  Palazzo,"  and  the  fourth  joins  the 
Church  of  St.  Mark. 

Of  this  fourth  side,  therefore,  nothing  can  be 
seen.  Of  the  other  three  sides  we  shall  have  to 
speak  constantly;  and  they  will  be  respectively 
called,  that  towards  the  Piazzetta,  the  "  Piaz- 
zetta  Fa9ade;"  that  towards  the  Riva  de'  Schia- 
voni,  the  "Sea  Facade;"  and  that  towards  the 
Rio  del  Palazzo,  the  "  Rio  Facade."  This  Rio, 
or  canal,  is  usually  looked  upon  by  the  traveller 
with  great  respect,  or  even  horror,  because  it 
passes  under  the  Bridge  of  Sighs.  It  is,  how- 
ever, one  of  the  principal  thoroughfares  of  the 
city;  and  the  bridge  and  its  canal  together  oc- 
cupy, in  the  mind  of  a  Venetian,  very  much  the 
position  of  Fleet  Street  and  Temple  Bar  in  that 
of  a  Londoner, — at  least,  at  the  time  when  Tem- 
ple Bar  was  occasionally  decorated  with  human 
heads.  The  two  buildings  closely  resemble  each 
other  in  form. 

§  iv.  We  must  now  proceed  to  obtain  some 
rough  idea  of  the  appearance  and  distribution 
of  the  palace  itself;  but  its  arrangement  will  be 
better  understood  by  supposing  ourselves  raised 
some  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the  point  in 
the  lagoon  in  front  of  it,  so  as  to  get  a  general  view 
of  the  Sea  Facade  and  Rio  Facade  (the  latter  in 
very  steep  perspective),  and  to  look  down  into 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  2OI 

its  interior  court.  Fig.  II.  roughly  represents 
such  a  view,  omitting  all  details  on  the  roofs,  in 
order  to  avoid  confusion.  In  this  drawing  we 
have  merely  to  notice  that,  of  the  two  bridges 
seen  on  the  right,  the  uppermost,  above  the 
black  canal,  is  the  Bridge  of  Sighs;  the  lower 
one  is  the  Ponte  della  Paglia,  the  regular  thor- 
oughfare from  quay  to  quay,  and,  I  believe, 
called  the  Bridge  of  Straw,  because  the  boats 
which  brought  straw  from  the  mainland  used  to 
sell  it  at  this  place.  The  corner  of  the  palace, 
rising  above  this  bridge,  and  formed  by  the  meet- 
ing of  the  Sea  Facade  and  Rio  Fagade,  will  al- 
ways be  called  the  Vine  angle,  because  it  is 
decorated  by  a  sculpture  of  the  drunkenness  of 
Noah.  The  angle  opposite  will  be  called  the 
Fig-tree  angle,  because  it  is  decorated  by  a 
sculpture  of  the  Fall  of  Man.  The  long  and 
narrow  range  of  building,  of  which  the  roof  is 
seen  in  perspective  behind  this  angle,  is  the  part 
of  the  palace  fronting  the  Piazzetta;  and  the 
angle  under  the  pinnacle  most  to  the  left  of  the 
two  which  terminate  it  will  be  called,  for  a  rea- 
son presently  to  be  stated,  the  Judgment  angle. 
Within  the  square  formed  by  the  building  is  seen 
its  interior  court  (with  one  of  its  wells),  termi- 
nated by  small  and  fantastic  buildings  of  the 
Renaissance  period,  which  face  the  Giant's  Stair, 


202  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

of  which  the  extremity  is  seen  sloping  clown  on 
the  left. 

§  v.  The  great  fagade  which  fronts  the  spec- 
tator looks  southward.  Hence  the  two  traceried 
windows  lower  than  the  rest,  and  to  the  right  of 
the  spectator,  may  be  conveniently  distinguished 
as  the  "  Eastern  Windows/'  There  are  two 
others  like  them,  filled  with  tracery,  and  at  the 
same  level,  which  look  upon  the  narrow  canal 
between  the  Ponte  della  Paglia  and  the  Bridge 
of  Sighs:  these  we  may  conveniently  call  the 
"  Canal  Windows."  The  reader  will  observe  a 
vertical  line  in  this  dark  side  of  the  palace,  sepa- 
rating its  nearer  and  plainer  wall  from  a  long 
four-storied  range  of  rich  architecture.  This 
more  distant  range  is  entirely  Renaissance:  its 
extremity  is  not  indicated,  because  I  have  no 
accurate  sketch  of  the  small  buildings  and 
bridges  beyond  it,  and  we  shall  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  this  part  of  the  palace  in 
our  present  inquiry.  The  nearer  and  undeco- 
rated  wall  is  part  of  the  older  palace,  though 
much  defaced  by  modern  opening  of  common 
windows,  refittings  of  the  brickwork,  etc. 

§  vi.  It  will  be  observed  that  the  fa?ade  is 
composed  of  a  smooth  mass  of  wall,  sustained 
on  two  tiers  of  pillars,  one  above  the  other. 
The  manner  in  which  these  support  the  whole 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE,  2O$ 

fabric  will  be  understood  at  once  by  the  rough 
section,  Fig.  III.,  which  is  sup- 
posed to  be  taken  right  through 
the  palace  to  the  interior  court, 
from  near  the  middle  of  the 
Sea  Fagade.  Here  a  and  </are 
the  rows  of  shafts,  both  in  the 
inner  court  and  on  the  Facade, 
which  carry  the  main  walls; 
/;,  c  are  solid  walls  variously 
strengthened  with  pilasters. 
A,  B,  C  are  the  three  stories  of  the  interior  of 
the  palace. 

The  reader  sees  that  it  is  impossible  for  any 
plan  to  be  more  simple,  and  that  if  the  inner 
floors  and  walls  of  the  stories  A,  B  were  re- 
moved, there  would  be  left  merely  the  form  of 
a  basilica, — two  high  walls,  carried  on  ranges  of 
shafts,  and  roofed  by  a  low  gable. 

The  stories  A,  B  are  entirely  modernized,  and 
divided  into  confused  ranges  of  small  apart- 
ments, among  which  what  vestiges  remain  of 
ancient  masonry  are  entirely  undecipherable, 
except  by  investigations  such  as  I  have  had 
neither  the  time  nor,  as  in  most  cases  they  would 
involve  the  removal  of  modern  plastering,  the 
opportunity,  to  make.  With  the  subdivisions  of 
this  story,  therefore,  I  shall  not  trouble  the 


204  THE   STONES   OF    VENICE. 

reader;  but  those  of  the  great  tipper  story,  C,  are 
highly  important. 

§  vn.  In  the  bird's-eye  view  above,  Fig.  II., 
it  will  be  noticed  that  the  two  windows  on  the 
right  are  lower  than  the  other  four  of  the  fagade. 
In  this  arrangement  there  is  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  instances  I  know  of  the  daring  sacri- 
fice of  symmetry  to  convenience,  which  was  no- 
ticed in  Chap.  VII.  as  one  of  the  chief  noble- 
nesses of  the  Gothic  schools. 

The  part  of  the  palace  in  which  the  two  lower 
windows  occur,  we  shall  find,  was  first  built,  and 
arranged  in  four  stories  in  order  to  obtain  the 
necessary  number  of  apartments.  Owing  to  cir- 
cumstances, of  which  we  shall  presently  give  an 
account,  it  became  necessary,  in  the  beginning 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  to  provide  another 
large  and  magnificent  chamber  for  the  meeting 
of  the  senate.  That  chamber  was  added  at  the 
side  of  the  older  building;  but,  as  only  one  room 
was  wanted,  there  was  no  need  to  divide  the 
added  portion  into  two  stories.  The  entire 
height  was  given  to  the  single  chamber,  being 
indeed  not  too  great  for  just  harmony  with  its 
enormous  length  and  breadth.  And  then  came 
the  question  how  to  place  the  windows,  whether 
o^-a  line  with  the  two  others,  or  above  them. 

,f  The  ceiling  of  the  new  room  was  to  be  adorned 
by  the  paintings  of  the  best  masters  in  Venice, 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  2O$ 

and  it  "became  of  great  importance  to  raise  the 
light  near  that  gorgeous  roof,  as  well  as  to  keep 
the  tone  of  illumination  in  the  Council  Chamber 
serene;  and  therefore  to  introduce  light  rather 
in  simple  masses  than  in  many  broken  streams. 
A  modern  architect,  terrified  at  the  idea  of  vio- 
lating external  symmetry,  would  have  sacrificed 
both  the  pictures  and  the  peace  of  the  council. 
He  would  have  placed  the  larger  windows  at 
the  same  level  with  the  other  two,  and  have  in- 
troduced above  them  smaller  windows,  like 
those  of  the  upper  story  in  the  older  building, 
as  if  that  upper  story  had  been  continued  along 
the  fa9ade.  But  the  old  Venetian  thought  of 
the  honor  of  the  paintings,  and  the  comfort  of 
the  senate,  before  his  own  reputation.  He  un- 
hesitatingly raised  the  large  windows  to  their 
proper  position  with  reference  to  the  interior  of 
the  chamber,  and  suffered  the  external  appear- 
ance to  take  care  of  itself.  And  I  believe  the 
whole  pile  rather  gains  than  loses  in  effect  by 
the  variation  thus  obtained  in  the  spaces  of  wall 
above  and  below  the  windows. 

§  vin.  On  the  party  wall,  between  the  second 
and  third  windows,  which  faces  the  eastern  ex- 
tremity of  the  Great  Council  Chamber,  is  painted 
the  Paradise  of  Tintoret;  and  this  wall  will  there- 
fore be  hereafter  called  the  "  Wall  of  the  Para- 
dise." 


206  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

In  nearly  the  centre  of  the  Sea  Fa?ade,  and 
between  the  first  and  second  windows  of  the 
Great  Council  Chamber,  is  a  large  window  to 
the  ground,  opening  on  a  balcony,  which  is  one 
of  the  chief  ornaments  of  the  palace,  and  will 
be  called  in  future  the  "  Sea  Balcony." 

The  fagade  which  looks  on  the  Piazzetta  is 
very  nearly  like  this  to  the  Sea,  but  the  greater 
part  of  it  was  built  in  the  fifteenth  century,  when 
people  had  become  studious  of  their  symmetries. 
Its  side  windows  are  all  on  the  same  level.  Two 
light  the  west  end  of  the  Great  Council  Cham- 
ber, one  lights  a  small  room  anciently  called  the 
Quarantia  Civil  Nuova;  the  other  three,  and 
the  central  one,  with  a  balcony  like  that  to  the 
Sea,  light  another  large  chamber,  called  Sala 
del  Scrutinio,  or  "  Hall  of  Enquiry,"  which  ex- 
tends to  the  extremity  of  the  palace  above  the 
Porta  della  Carta. 

§  ix.  The  reader  is  now  well  enough  acquainted 
with  the  topography  of  the  existing  building,  to 
be  able  to  follow  the  accounts  of  its  history. 

We  have  seen  above,  that  there  were  three 
principal  styles  of  Venetian  architecture;  Byzan- 
tine, Gothic,  and  Renaissance. 

The  Ducal  Palace,  which  was  the  great  work 
of  Venice,  was  built  successively  in  the  three 
styles.  There  was  a  Byzantine  Ducal  Palace,  a 
Gothic  Ducal  Palace,  and  a  Renaissance  Ducal 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  2O/ 

Palace.  The  second  superseded  the  first  to- 
tally; a  few  stones  of  it  (if  indeed  so  much)  are 
all  that  is  left.  But  the  third  superseded  the 
second  in  part  only,  and  the  existing  building  is 
formed  by  the  union  of  the  two. 

We  shall  review  the  history  of  each  in  suc- 
cession.* 

ist.  The  BYZANTINE  PALACE. 

In  the  year  of  the  death  of  Charlemagne,  813,! 

*  The  reader  will  find  it  convenient  to  note  the  follow- 
ing editions  of  the  printed  books  which  have  been  prin- 
cipally consulted  in  the  following  inquiry.  The  numbers 
of  the  manuscripts  referred  to  in  the  Marcian  Library  are 
given  with  the  quotations. 

Sansovino.     Venetia  Descritta.     410,  Venice,  1663. 
Sansovino.     Lettera  intorno  al    Palazzo    Ducale. 

8vo,  Venice,  1829. 
Temanza.     Antica  Pianta  di  Venezia,  with  text. 

Venice,  1780. 
Cadorin.     Pareri  di  XV.  Architetti.     8vo,  Venice, 

1838. 

Filiasi.     Memorie  storiche.     8vo,  Padua,  1811. 
Bettio.     Lettera  discorsiva    del    Palazzo  Ducale. 

8vo,  Venice,  1837. 
Selvatico.     Architettura  di  Venezia.     8vo,  Venice, 

1847, 

f  The  year  commonly  given  is  810,  as  in  the  Savina 
Chronicle  (Cod.  Marcianus),  p.  13.  "  Del  810  fece  prin- 
cipiar  el  pallazzo  Ducal  nel  luogo  ditto  Bruolo  in  confin 
di  S.  Moise,  et  fece  riedificar  la  isola  di  Eraclia."  The 
Sagornin  Chronicle  gives  804;  and  Filiasi,  vol.  vi.  chap, 
i,  corrects  this  date  to  813. 


208  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

the  Venetians  determined  to  make  the  island  of 
Rialto  the  seat  of  the  government  and  capital 
of  their  state.  Their  Doge,  Angelo  or  Agnello 
Participazio,  instantly  took  vigorous  means  for 
the  enlargement  of  the  small  group  of  buildings 
which  were  to  be  the  nucleus  of  the  future  Ven- 
ice. He  appointed  persons  to  superintend  the 
raising  of  the  banks  of  sand,  so  as  to  form  more 
secure  foundations,  and  to  build  wooden  bridges 
over  the  canals.  For  the  offices  of  religion,  he 
built  the  Church  of  St.  Mark;  and  on,  or  near, 
the  spot  where  the  Ducal  Palace  now  stands,  he 
built  a  palace  for  the  administration  of  the  gov- 
ernment.* 

The  history  of  the  Ducal  Palace  therefore  be- 
gins with  the  birth  of  Venice,  and  to  what  re- 
mains of  it,  at  this  day,  is  entrusted  the  last 
representation  of  her  power. 

§  x.  Of  the  exact  position  and  form  of  this 
palace  of  Participazio  little  is  ascertained.  San- 


*  "  Amplio  la  citta,  fornilla  di  casamenti,  e  per  il  culto 
d'  Iddio  e  I'  amministrazione  della  giustizia  eresse  la 
capella  di  S.  Marco,  e  il  palazzo  di  sua  residenza." — 
Pareri,  p.  120.  Observe,  that  piety  towards  God,  and 
justice  towards  man,  have  been  at  least  the  nominal  pur- 
poses of  every  act  and  institution  of  ancient  Venice. 
Compare  also  Temanza,  p.  24.  "  Quello  che  abbiamo 
di  certo  si  e  che  il  suddetto  Agnello  lo  incommincio  da 
fondamenti,  e  cosi  pure  la  capella  ducale  di  S.  Marco." 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  209 

sovino  says  that  it  was  "  built  near  the  Ponte 
della  Paglia,  and  answeringly  on  the  Grand 
Canal,"*  towards  San  Giorgio;  that  is  to  say,  in 
the  place  now  occupied  by  the  Sea  Fagade;  but 
this  was  merely  the  popular  report  of  his  day. 
We  know,  however,  positively,  that  it  was  some- 
where upon  the  site  of  the  existing  palace;  and 
that  it  had  an  important  front  towards  the  Piaz- 
zetta,  with  which,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter,  the 
present  palace  at  one  period  was  incorporated. 
We  know,  also,  that  it  was  a  pile  of  some  mag- 
nificence, from  the  account  given  by  Sagornino 
of  the  visit  paid  by  the  Emperor  Otho  the 

*  What  I  call  the  Sea,  was  called  "  the  Grand  Canal " 
by  the  Venetians,  as  well  as  the  great  water  street  of  the 
city;  but  I  prefer  calling  it  "  the  Sea,"  in  order  to  dis- 
tinguish between  that  street  and  the  broad  water  in  front 
of  the  Ducal  Palace,  which,  interrupted  only  by  the  island 
of  San  Giorgio,  stretches  for  many  miles  to  the  south, 
and  for  more  than  two  to  the  boundary  of  the  Lido.  It 
was  the  deeper  channel,  just  in  front  of  the  Ducal  Palace, 
continuing  the  line  of  the  great  water  street  itself  which 
the  Venetians  spoke  of  as  "the  Grand  Canal."  The 
words  of  Sansovino  are:  "Fu  cominciato  dove  si  vede, 
vicino  al  ponte  della  paglia,  et  rispondente  sul  canal 
grande."  Filiasi  says  simply:  "  The  palace  was  built 
where  it  now  is."  "  II  palazio  fu  fatto  dove  ora  pure 
csiste."  —  Vol.  iii.  chap.  27.  The  Savina  Chronicle, 
already  quoted,  says:  "  in  the  place  called  the  Bruolo  (or 
Broglio),  that  is  to  say  on  the  Piazzetta." 


210  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

Great,  to  the  Doge  Pietro  Orseolo  II.  The 
chronicler  says  that  the  Emperor  "  beheld  care- 
fully all  the  beauty  of  the  palace;"  *  and  the 
Venetian  historians  express  pride  in  the  buildings 
being  worthy  of  an  emperor's  examination.  This 
was  after  the  palace  had  been  much  injured  by 
fire  in  the  revolt  against  Candiano  IV. ,f  and 
just  repaired,  and  richly  adorned  by  Orseolo  him- 
self, who  is  spoken  of  by  Sagornino  as  having 
also  "  adorned  the  chapel  of  the  Ducal  Palace  " 


*  "Omni  decoritate  illius  perlustrata. " — Sagornino, 
quoted  by  Cadorin  and  Temanza. 

f  There  is  an  interesting  account  of  this  revolt  in 
Monaci,  p.  68.  Some  historians  speak  of  the  palace  as 
having  been  destroyed  entirely;  but,  that  it  did  not  even 
need  important  restorations,  appears  from  Sagornino's 
expression,  quoted  by  Cadorin  and  Temanza.  Speaking 
of  the  Doge  Participazio,  he  says:  "  Qui  Palatii  hucusque 
manentis  fuerit  fabricator."  The  reparations  of  the 
palace  are  usually  attributed  to  the  successor  of  Candiano, 
Pietro  Orseolo  I.;  but  the  legend,  under  the  picture  of 
that  Doge  in  the  Council  Chamber,  speaks  only  of  his 
rebuilding  St.  Mark's,  and  "  performing  many  miracles." 
His  whole  mind  seems  to  have  been  occupied  with  eccle- 
siastical affairs;  and  his  piety  was  finally  manifested  in  a 
way  somewhat  startling  to  the  state,  by  absconding  with 
a  French  priest  to  St.  Michael's  in  Gascony,  and  there 
becoming  a  monk.  What  repairs,  therefore,  were  neces- 
sary to  the  Ducal  Palace,  were  left  to  be  undertaken  by 
his  son,  Orseolo  II.,  above  named. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  211 

(St.  Mark's)  with  ornaments  of  marble  and  gold.* 
There  can  be  no  doubt  whatever  that  the  palace 
at  this  period  resembled  and  impressed  the 
other  Byzantine  edifices  of  the  city,  such  as  the 
Fondaco  de  Turchi,  &c.,  whose  remains  have 
been  already  described;  and  that,  like  them,  it 
was  covered  with  sculpture,  and  richly  adorned 
with  gold  and  color. 

§  xi.  In  the  year  1106,  it  was  for  the  second 
time  injured  by  fire,'f  but  repaired  before  1116, 
when  it  received  another  emperor,  Henry  V.  (of 
Germany),  and  was  again  honored  by  imperial 
praise. \  Between  1173  and  the  close  of  the 
century,  it  seems  to  have  been  again  repaired 
and  much  enlarged  by  the  Doge  Sebastian  Ziani. 
Sansovino  says  that  this  Doge  not  only  repaired 
it,  but  "  enlarged  it  in  every  direction;"  §  and, 
after  this  enlargement,  the  palace  seems  to  have 

*  "  Quam  non  modo  marmoreo,  verum  aureo  compsit 
ornamento."  —  Temanza,  p.  25. 

f  "  L'anno  1106,  uscito  fuoco  d'una  casa  privata,  arse 
parte  del  palazzo." — Sansovino.  Of  the  beneficial  effect 
of  these  fires,  vide  Cadorin,  p.  121,  123. 

\  "  Urbis  situm,  aedificiorum  decorem,  et  regitninis 
aequitatem  multipliciter  commendavit. " — Cronaca  Dan- 
dolo,  quoted  by  Cadorin. 

§  "Non  solamente  rinovo  il  palazzo,  ma  lo  aggrandi 
per  ogni  verso." — Sansovino.  Zanotto  quotes  the  Altinat 
Chronicle  for  account  of  these  repairs. 


212  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

remained  untouched  for  a  hundred  years,  until, 
in  the  commencement  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
the  works  of  the  Gothic  Palace  were  begun. 
As,  therefore,  the  old  Byzantine  building  was, 
at  the  time  when  those  works  first  interfered 
with  it,  in  the  form  given  to  it  by  Ziani,  I  shall 
hereafter  always  speak  of  it  as  the  Ziani  Palace; 
and  this  the  rather,  because  the  only  chronicler 
whose  words  are  perfectly  clear  respecting  the 
existence  of  part  of  this  palace  so  late  as  the 
year  1422,  speaks  of  it  as  built  by  Ziani.  The 
old  "  palace  of  which  half  remains  to  this  day, 
was  built,  as  we  now  see  it,  by  Sebastian  Ziani."* 

So  far,  then,  of  the  Byzantine  Palace. 

§  xn.  2nd.  The  GOTHIC  PALACE.  The  reader, 
doubtless,  recollects  that  the  important  change 
in  the  Venetian  government  which  gave  stability 
to  the  aristocratic  power  took  place  about  the 
year  1297,!  under  the  Doge  Pietro  Gradenigo, 
a  man  thus  characterized  by  Sansovino: — "  A 
prompt  and  prudent  man,  of  unconquerable  de- 
termination and  great  eloquence,  who  laid,  so 

*  "  El  palazzo  che  anco  di  mezzo  se  vede  vecchio,  per 
M.  Sebastian  Ziani  fu  fatto  compir,  come  el  se  vede." — 
Chronicle  of  Pietro  Dolfino,  Cod.  Ven.  p.  47.  This  Chroni- 
cle is  spoken  of  by  Sansovino  as  ' '  molto  particolare 
e  distinta." — Sansovino,  Venezia  descritta,  p.  593. — It 
terminates  in  the  year  1422. 

\  See  Vol.  I.  Appendix    3,  Stones  of  Venice. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  21$ 

to  speak,  the  foundations  of  the  eternity  of  this 
republic,  by  the  admirable  regulations  which  he 
introduced  into  the  government." 

We  may  now,  with  some  reason,  doubt  of 
their  admirableness ;  but  their  importance,  and 
the  vigorous  will  and  intellect  of  the  Doge,  are 
not  to  be  disputed.  Venice  was  in  the  zenith  of 
her  strength,  and  the  heroism  of  her  citizens 
was  displaying  itself  in  every  quarter  of  the 
world.*  The  acquiescence  in  the  secure  estab 
lishment  of  the  aristocratic  power  was  an  ex- 
pression, by  the  people,  of  respect  for  the  fami- 
lies which  had  been  chiefly  instrumental  in 
raising  the  commonwealth  to  such  a  height  of 
prosperity. 

The  Serrar  del  Consiglio  fixed  the  numbers  of 
the  Senate  within  certain  limits,  and  it  con- 
ferred upon  them  a  dignity  greater  than  they 
had  ever  before  possessed.  It  was  natural  that 
the  alteration  in  the  character  of  the  assembly 
should  be  attended  by  some  change  in  the  size, 
arrangement,  or  decoration  of  the  chamber  in 
which  they  sat. 

We  accordingly  find  it  recorded  by  Sansovino, 
that  "in  1301  another  saloon  was  begun  on  the 
Rio  del  Palazzo,  under  the  Doge  Gradenigo,  and 

*  Vide  Sansovino's  enumeration  of  those  who  flour- 
ished in  the  reign  of  Gradenigo,  p.  564. 


214  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

finished  in  1309,  in  which  year  the  Grand  Coun- 
cil first  sat  in  it."  *  In  the  first  year,  therefore, 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  the  Gothic  Ducal 
Palace  of  Venice  was  begun;  and  as  the  Byzan- 
tine Palace  was,  in  its  foundation,  coeval  with 
that  of  the  state,  so  the  Gothic  Palace  was,  in 
its  foundation,  coeval  with  that  of  the  aristo- 
cratic power.  Considered  as  the  principal 
representation  of  the  Venetian  school  of  archi- 
tecture, the  Ducal  Palace  is  the  Parthenon  of 
Venice,  and  Gradenigo  its  Pericles. 

§  xiii.  Sansovino,  with  a  caution  very  fre- 
quent among  Venetian  historians,  when  allud- 
ing to  events  connected  with  the  Serrar  del 
Consiglio,  does  not  specially  mention  the  cause 
for  the  requirement  of  the  new  chamber;  but 
the  Sivos  Chronicle  is  a  little  more  distinct  in 
expression.  "  In  1301,  it  was  determined  to 
build  a  great  saloon  for  the  assembling  of  the 
Great  Council,  and  the  room  was  built  which  is 
now  called  the  Sala  del  Scrutinio."f  Now,  that 

*  Sansovino,  324,  I. 

f  "  1301  fu  presa  parte  di  fare  una  sala  grande  per  la 
riduzione  del  gran  consiglio,  e  fu  fatta  quella  che  ora  si 
chiama  dello  Scrutinio." — Cronaca  Sivos,  quoted  by  Ca- 
dorin.  There  is  another  most  interesting  entry  in  the 
Chronicle  of  Magno,  relating  to  this  event;  but  the  pas- 
sage is  so  ill  written,  that  I  am  not  sure  if  I  have  deci- 
phered it  correctly  : — "  Del  1301  fu  preso  de  fabrichar  la 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  21$ 

is  to  say,  at  the  time  when  the  Sivos  Chronicle 
was  written;  the  room  has  long  ago  been  de- 
stroyed, and  its  name  given  to  another  chamber 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  palace:  but  I  wish 
the  reader  to  remember  the  date  1301,  as  mark- 
ing the  commencement  of  a  great  architectural 
epoch,  in  which  took  place  the  first  appliance 
of  the  energy  of  the  aristocratic  power,  and  of 
the  Gothic  style,  to  the  works  of  the  Ducal 
Palace.  The  operations  then  begun  were  con- 
tinued, with  hardly  an  interruption,  during  the 
whole  period  of  the  prosperity  of  Venice.  We 
shall  see  the  new  buildings  consume,  and  take 
the  place  of,  the  Ziani  Palace,  piece  by  piece: 
and  when  the  Ziani  Palace  was  destroyed,  they 
fed  upon  themselves;  being  continued  round 
the  square,  until,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  they 
reached  the  point  where  they  had  been  begun 
in  the  fourteenth,  and  pursued  the  track  they 
had  then  followed  some  distance  beyond  the 
junction;  destroying  or  hiding  their  own  com- 

sala  fo  ruina  e  fu  fata  (fatta)  quella  se  adoperava  a  far  el 
pregadi  e  fu  adopera  per  far  el  Gran  Consegio  fin  1423, 
che  fu  anni  122."  This  last  sentence,  which  is  of  great 
importance,  is  luckily  unmistakable: — "  The  room  was 
used  for  the  meetings  of  the  Great  Council  until  1423, 
that  is  to  say,  for  122  years." — Cod.  Ven.  torn.  i.  p.  126. 
The  Chronicle  extends  from  1253  to  1454. 

Abstract  1301  to  1309  ;    Gradenigo's   room — 1340-42, 
page  295 — 1419.     New  proposals,  p.  298. 


2i6  THE    STONES   OF    VENICE. 

mencement,  as  the  serpent,  which  is  the  type  of 
eternity,  conceals  its  tail  in  its  jaws. 

§  xiv.  We  cannot,  therefore,  see  the  extremi- 
ty, wherein  lay  the  sting  and  force  of  the  whole 
creature, — the  chamber,  namely,  built  by  the 
Doge  Gradenigo;  but  the  reader  must  keep  that 
commencement  and  the  date  of  it  carefully  in 
his  mind.  The  body  of  the  Palace  Serpent  will 
soon  become  visible  to  us. 

The  Gradenigo  Chamber  was  somewhere  on 
the  Rio  Fa9ade,  behind  the  present  position  of 
the  Bridge  of  Sighs;  i.  e.  about  the  point  marked 
on  the  roof  by  the  dotted  lines  in  the  woodcut; 
it  is  not  known  whether  low  or  high,  but  proba- 
bly on  a  first  story.  The  great  fa£ade  of  the 
Ziani  Palace  being,  as  above  mentioned,  on  the 
Piazzetta,  this  chamber  was  as  far  back  and  out 
of  the  way  as  possible;  secrecy  and  security  be- 
ing obviously  the  points  first  considered. 

§  xv.  But  the  newly  constituted  Senate  had 
need  of  other  additions  to  the  ancient  palace 
besides  the  Council  Chamber.  A  short,  but 
most  significant,  sentence  is  added  to  Sanso- 
vino's  account  of  the  construction  of  that  room. 
"  There  were,  near  it"  he  says,  "  the  Cancella- 
ria,  and  the  Gheba  or  Gabbia,  afterwards  called 
the  Little  Tower."* 

*  "  Vi  era  appresso  la  Cancellaria,  e  la  Gheba  o  Gabbia, 
chiamata  poi  Torresella." —  P.  324.  A  small  square 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  2 1/ 

Gabbia  means  a  "  cage;"  and  there  can  be  no 
question  that  certain  apartments  were  at  this 
time  added  at  the  top  of  the  palace  and  on  the 
Rio  Facade,  which  were  to  be  used  as  prisons. 
Whether  any  portion  of  the  old  Torresella  still 
remains  is  a  doubtful  question;  but  the  apart- 
ments at  the  top  of  the  palace,  in  its  fourth 
story,  were  still  used  for  prisons  as  late  as  the 
beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century.*  I  wish 
the  reader  especially  to  notice  that  a  separate 
tower  or  range  of  apartments  was  built  for  this 
purpose,  in  order  to  clear  the  government  of  the 
accusations  so  constantly  made  against  them,, 
by  ignorant  or  partial  historians,  of  wanton 
cruelty  to  prisoners.  The  stories  commonly  told 
respecting  the  "  piombi "  of  the  Ducal  Palace 
are  utterly  false.  Instead  of  being,  as  usually 
reported,  small  furnaces  under  the  leads  of  the 
palace,  they  were  comfortable  rooms,  with  good 
flat  roofs  of  larch,  and  carefully  ventilated. f 


tower  is  seen  above  the  Vine  angle  in  the  view  of  Venice 
dated  1 500,  and  attributed  to  Albert  Durer.  It  appears 
about  25  feet  square,  and  is  very  probably  the  Torresella 
in  question. 

*  Vide  Bettio,  Lettera,  p.  23. 

\  Bettio,  Lettera,  p.  20.  ' '  Those  who  wrote  without 
having  seen  them  described  them  as  covered  with  lead; 
and  those  who  have  seen  them  know  that,  between  their 


2l8  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

The  new  chamber,  then,  and  the  prisons,  being 
built,  the  Great  Council  first  sat  in  their  retired 
chamber  on  the  Rio  in  the  year  1309. 

§  xvi.  Now,  observe  the  significant  progress 
of  events.  They  had  no  sooner  thus  established 
themselves  in  power  than  they  were  disturbed 
by  the  conspiracy  of  the  Tiepolos,  in  the  year 
1310.  In  consequence  of  that  conspiracy  the 
Council  of  Ten  was  created,  still  under  the  Doge 
Gradenigo;  who,  having  finished  his  work  and 
left  the  aristocracy  of  Venice  armed  with  this 
terrible  power,  died  in  the  year  1312,  some  say 
by  poison.  He  was  succeeded  by  the  Doge 
Marino  Giorgio,  who  reigned  only  one  year; 
and  then  followed  the  prosperous  government 
of  John  Soranzo.  There  is  no  mention  of  any 
additions  to  the  Ducal  Palace  during  his  reign, 
but  he  was  succeeded  by  that  Francesco  Dan- 
dolo,  the  sculptures  on  whose  tomb,  still  exist- 
ing in  the  cloisters  of  the  Salute,  may  be  com- 
pared by  any  traveller  with  those  of  the  Ducal 
Palace.  Of  him  it  is  recorded  in  the  Savina 
Chronicle:  "This  Doge  also  had  the  great  gate 
built  which  is  at  the  entry  of  the  palace,  above 
which  is  his  statue  kneeling,  with  the  gonfalon 

flat  timber  roofs  and  the  sloping  leaden  roof  of  the  pal- 
ace the  interval  is  five  metres  where  it  is  least,  and  nine 
where  it  is  greatest." 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE. 


in   hand,  before    the   feet   of   the   Lion  of  St. 
Mark's."* 

§  xvii.  It  appears,  then,  that  after  the  Senate 

had  completed  their  Council  Chamber  and  the 

prisons,  they  required  a  nobler  door  than  that 

of  the  old  Ziani  Palace  for  their  Magnificences 

to  enter  by.     This  door  is  twice   spoken  of  in 

the  government  accounts  of  expenses,  which  are 

fortunately  preserved,!  in  the  following  terms:  — 

"  X335>  June  i.    We,  Andrew  Dandolo  and  Mark 

Loredano,  procurators  of  St.   Mark's,  have 

paid  to  Martin   the   stone-cutter   and   his 

associates  J  .  .  .  .  for  a  stone  of  which  the 

lion  is  made  which  is  put  over  the  gate  of 

the  palace." 

"  1344,  November  4.     We  have  paid  thirty-five 

golden  ducats  for  making  gold  leaf,  to  gild 

the  lion   which    ifi   over  the   door   of   the 

palace  stairs." 

The  position  of  this  door  is  disputed,  and  is  of 

*  "  Questo  Dose  anche  fese  far  la  porta  grand  a  che  se 
al  intrar  del  Pallazzo,  in  su  la  qual  vi  e  la  sua  statua  che 
sta  in  zenocchioni  con  lo  confalon  in  man,  davanti  li  pie 
de  lo  Lion  S.  Marco."  —  Savin  Chronicle,  Cod.  Ven.  p. 
1  20. 

f  These  documents  I  have  not  examined  myself,  being 
satisfied  of  the  accuracy  of  Cadorin,  from  whom  I  take 
the  passages  quoted. 

|  "  Libras  tres,  soldos  isgrossorum."  —  Cadorin,  189,  i. 


220  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

no  consequence  to  the  reader,  the  door  itself 
having  long  ago  disappeared,  and  been  replaced 
by  the  Porta  della  Carta. 

§  xvm.  But  before  it  was  finished,  occasion 
had  been  discovered  for  farther  improvements. 
The  Senate  found  their  new  Council  Chamber  in- 
conveniently small,  and,  about  thirty  years  after 
its  completion,  began  to  consider  where  a  larger 
and  more  magnificent  one  might  be  built.  The 
government  was  now  thoroughly  established, 
and  it  was  probably  felt  that  .there  was  some 
meanness  in  the  retired  position,  as  well  as  in- 
sufficiency in  the  size,  of  the  Council  Chamber 
on  the  Rio.  The  first  definite  account  which  I 
find  of  their  proceedings,  under  these  circum- 
stances, is  in  the  Caroldo  Chronicle:* 

"  1340.  On  the  28th  of  December,  in  the 
preceding  year,  Master  Marco  Erizzo,  Nicolo 
Soranzo,  and  Thomas  Gradenigo,  were  chosen 
to  examine  where  a  new  saloon  might  be  built 
in  order  to  assemble  therein  the  Greater  Coun- 
cil  On  the  3rd  of  June,  1341,  the  Great 

Council  elected  two  procurators  of  the  work 
of  this  saloon,  with  a  salary  of  eighty  ducats  a 
year." 

It  appears  from  the  entry  still  preserved  in 
the  Archivio,  and  quoted  by  Cadorin,  that  it 

*  Cod.  Ven.,  No.  cxu.  p.  365. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  221 

was  on  the  28th  of  December,  1340,  that  the 
commissioners  appointed  to  decide  on  this  im- 
portant matter  gave  in  their  report  to  the  Grand 
Council,  and  that  the  decree  passed  thereupon 
for  the  commencement  of  a  new  Council  Cham- 
ber on  the  Grand  Canal.* 

The  room  then  begun  is  the  one  now  in  existence^ 
and  its  building  involved  the  building  of  all  that 
is  best  and  most  beautiful  in  the  present  Ducal 
Palace,  the  rich  arcades  of  the  lower  stories 
being  all  prepared  for  sustaining  this  Sala  del 
Gran  Consiglio. 

§  xix.  In  saying  that  it  is  the  same  now  in 
existence,  I  do  not  mean  that  it  has  undergone 
no  alterations;  as  we  shall  see  hereafter,  it  has 
been  refitted  again  and  again,  and  some  portions 
of  its  walls  rebuilt;  but  in  the  place  and  form 
in  which  it  first  stood,  it  still  stands;  and  by  a 
glance  at  the  position  which  its  windows  occupy, 
as  shown  in  Figure  II.  above,  the  reader  will 
see  at  once  that  whatever  can  be  known  re- 
specting the  design  of  the  Sea  Facade,  must 


*  Sansovino  is  more  explicit  than  usual  in  his  reference 
to  this  decree:  "For  it  having  appeared  that  the  place 
(the  first  Council  Chamber)  s  not  capacious  enough, 
the  saloon  on  the  Grand  Canal  was  ordered."  "  Per  cio 
parendo  che  il  luogo  non  fosse  capace,  fu  ordinata  la  Sala 
sul  Canal  Grande." — P.  324. 


THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

be  gleaned  out  of  the  entries  which  refer  to 
the  building  of  this  Great  Council  Chamber. 

Cadorin  quotes  two  of  great  importance,  to 
which  we  shall  return  in  due  time,  made  during 
the  progress  of  the  work  in  1342  and  1344;  then 
one  of  1349,  resolving  that  the  works  at  the 
Ducal  Palace,  which  had  been  discontinued  dur- 
ing the  plague,  should  be  resumed;  and  finally 
one  in  1362,  which  speaks  of  the  Great  Council 
Chamber  as  having  been  neglected  and  suffered 
to  fall  into  "  great  desolation,"  and  resolves  that 
it  shall  be  forthwith  completed.* 

The  interruption  had  not  been  caused  by  the 
plague  only,  but  by  the  conspiracy  of  Faliero, 
and  the  violent  death  of  the  master  builder,  f 
The  work  was  resumed  in  1362,  and  completed 
within  the  next  three  years,  at  least  so  far  as 
that  Guariento  was  enabled  to  paint  his  Para- 
dise on  the  walls;  \  so  that  the  building  must, 
at  any  rate,  have  been  roofed  by  this  time.  Its 
decorations  and  fittings,  however,  were  long  in 

*  Cadorin,  185,  2.  The  decree  of  1342  is  falsely  given 
as  of  1345  by  the  Sivos  Chronicle,  and  by  Magno;  while 
Sanuto  gives  the  decree  to  its  right  year,  1342,  but  speaks 
of  the  Council  Chamber  as  only  begun  in  1345. 

f  Calendario.     See  Appendix  I.,  Vol.  III. 

%  "  II  primo  che  vi  colorisse  fu  Guariento  tl  quale  V 
anno  1365  vi  fece  il  Paradiso  in  testa  della  sala." — Sanso- 
vino. 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  22$ 

completion;  the  paintings  on  the  roof  being 
only  executed  in  1400.  *  They  represented  the 
heavens  covered  with  stars,  f  this  being,  says 
Sansovino,  the  bearings  of  the  Doge  Steno. 
Almost  all  ceilings  and  vaults  were  at  this  time 
in  Venice  covered  with  stars,  without  any  refer- 
ence to  armorial  bearings;  but  Steno  claims, 
under  his  noble  title  of  Stellifer,  an  important 
share  in  completing  the  chamber,  in  an  inscrip- 
tion upon  two  square  tablets,  now  inlaid  in  the 
walls  on  each  side  of  the  great  window  towards 
the  sea: 

•"  MlLLE  QUADRINGENTI   CURREBANT  QUATUOR   ANNI 

HOC  OPUS   ILLUSTRIS  MlCHAEL  DUX  STELLIFER  AUXIT." 

And  in  fact  it  is  to  this  Doge  that  we  owe  the 
beautiful  balcony  of  that  window,  though  the 
work  above  it  is  partly  of  more  recent  date;  and 
I  think  the  tablets  bearing  this  important  in- 
scription have  been  taken  out  and  reinserted  in 
the  newer  masonry.  The  labor  of  these  final 
decorations  occupied  a  total  period  of  sixty 

*  "L*  an  poi  1400  vi  fece  il  cielo  compartita  a  quad- 
retti  d'  oro,  ripieni  di  stelle,  ch'  era  la  insegna  del  Doge 
Steno." — Sansovino,  lib.  vm. 

f  "  In  questi  tempi  si  messe  in  oro  il  cielo  della  sala  del 
Gran  Consiglio  et  si  fece  il  pergolo  del  finestra  grande 
chi  guarda  sul  canale,  adornato  1'uno  e  1'altro  di  stelle, 
ch'  erano  la  insegne  del  Doge." — Sansovino,  lib.  xm. 
Compare  also  Pareri,  p.  129. 


224  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

years.  The  Grand  Council  sat  in  the  finished 
chamber  for  the  first  time  in  1423.  In  that 
year  the  Gothic  Ducal  Palace  of  Venice  was 
completed.  It  had  taken,  to  build  it,  the  ener- 
gies of  the  entire  period  which  I  have  above 
described  as  the  central  one  of  her  life. 

§  xx.  3rd.  The  RENAISSANCE  PALACE.  I 
must  go  back  a  step  or  two,  in  order  to  be  cer- 
tain that  the  reader  understands  clearly  the 
state  of  the  palace  in  1423.  The  works  of  ad- 
dition or  renovation  had  now  been  proceeding, 
at  intervals,  during  a  space  of  a  hundred  and 
twenty-three  years.  Three  generations  at  least 
had  been  accustomed  to  witness  the  gradual 
advancement  of  the  form  of  the  Ducal  Palace 
into  more  stately  symmetry,  and  to  contrast  the 
works  of  sculpture  and  painting  with  which  it 
was  decorated, — full  of  the  life,  knowledge,  and 
hope  of  the  fourteenth  century, — with  the  rude 
Byzantine  chiselling  of  the  palace  of  the  Doge 
Ziani.  The  magnificent  fabric  just  completed, 
of  which  the  new  Council  Chamber  was  the 
nucleus,  was  now  habitually  known  in  Venice  as 
the  "Palazzo  Nuovo;"  and  the  old  Byzantine 
edifice,  now  ruinous,  and  more  manifest  in  its 
decay  by  its  contrast  with  the  goodly  stones  of 
the  building  which  had  been  raised  at  its  side, 
was  of  course  known  as  the  "  Palazzo  Vecchio."  * 

*  Baseggio  (Pareri,  p.   127)  is  called  the  Proto  of  the 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  22  5 

That  fabric,  however,  still  occupied  the  principal 
position  in  Venice.  The  new  Council  Chamber 
had  been  erected  by  the  side  of  it  towards  the 
Sea;  but  there  was  not  then  the  wide  quay  in 
front,  the  Riva  dei  Schiavoni,  which  now  ren- 
ders the  Sea  Fa?ade  as  important  as  that  to  the 
Piazzetta.  There  was  only  a  narrow  walk  be- 
tween the  pillars  and  the  water;  and  the  old 
palace  of  Ziani  still  faced  the  Piazzetta,  and  in- 
terrupted, by  its  decrepitude,  the  magnificence 
of  the  square  where  the  nobles  daily  met. 
Every  increase  of  the  beauty  of  the  new  palace 
rendered  the  discrepancy  between  it  and  the 
companion  building  more  painful;  and  then 
began  to  arise  in  the  minds  of  all  men  a  vague 
idea  of  the  necessity  of  destroying  the  old  pal- 
ace, and  completing  the  front  of  the  Piazzetta 
with  the  same  splendor  as  the  Sea  Fa£ade.  But 
no  such  sweeping  measure  of  renovation  had 
been  contemplated  by  the  Senate  when  they 
first  formed  the  plan  of  their  new  Council  Cham- 
ber. First  a  single  additional  room,  then  a 
gateway,  then  a  larger  room;  but  all  considered 
merely  as  necessary  additions  to  the  palace,  not 
as  involving  the  entire  reconstruction  of  the 
ancient  edifice.  The  exhaustion  of  the  treas- 
ury, and  the  shadows  upon  the  political  horizon, 

New  Palace.  Farther  notes  will  be  found  in  Appendix  I., 
Vol.  III. 


226  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

rendered  it  more  than  imprudent  to  incur  the 
vast  additional  expense  which  such  a  project  in- 
volved; and  the  Senate,  fearful  of  itself,  and 
desirous  to  guard  against  the  weakness  of  its 
own  enthusiasm,  passed  a  decree,  like  the  effort 
of  a  man  fearful  of  some  strong  temptation  to 
keep  his  thoughts  averted  from  the  point  of 
danger.  It  was  a  decree,  not  merely  that  the 
old  palace  should  not  be  rebuilt,  but  that  no 
one  should  propose  rebuilding  it.  The  feeling  of 
the  desirableness  of  doing  so  was  too  strong  to 
permit  fair  discussion,  and  the  Senate  knew  that 
to  bring  forward  such  a  motion  was  to  carry  it. 

§  xxi.  The  decree,  thus  passed  in  order  to 
guard  against  their  own  weakness,  forbade  any 
one  to  speak  of  rebuilding  the  old  palace  under 
the  penalty  of  a  thousand  ducats.  But  they  had 
rated  their  own  enthusiasm  too  low:  there  was 
a  man  among  them  whom  the  loss  of  a  thousand 
ducats  could  not  deter  from  proposing  what  he 
believed  to  be  for  the  good  of  the  state. 

Some  excuse  was  given  him  for  bringing  for- 
ward the  motion,  by  a  fire  which  occurred  in 
1419,  and  which  injured  both  the  church  of  St. 
Mark's,  and  part  of  the  old  palace  fronting  the 
Piazzetta.  What  followed,  I  shall  relate  in  the 
words  of  Sanuto.* 

*  Cronaca  Sanudo,  No.  cxxv.  in  the  Marcian  Library, 
p.  568. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


§  xxii.  "  Therefore  they  set  themselves  with 
all  diligence  and  care  to  repair  and  adorn  sump- 
tuously, first  God's  house;  but  in  the  Prince's 
house  things  went  on  more  slowly,  for  it  did  not 
please  the  Doge  *  to  restore  it  in  the  form  in  which 
it  was  before;  and  they  could  not  rebuild  it  alto- 
gether in  a  better  manner,  so  great  was  the  par- 
simony of  these  old  fathers;  because  it  was  for- 
bidden by  laws,  which  condemned  in  a  penalty 
of  a  thousand  ducats  any  one  who  should  pro- 
pose to  throw  down  the  old  palace,  and  to  re- 
build it  more  richly  and  with  greater  expense. 
But  the  Doge,  who  was  magnanimous,  and  who 
desired  above  all  things  what  was  honorable  to 
the  city,  had  the  thousand  ducats  carried  into 
the  Senate  Chamber,  and  then  proposed  that  the 
palace  should  be  rebuilt;  saying:  that,  '  since  the 
late  fire  had  ruined  in  great  part  the  Ducal 
habitation  (not  only  his  own  private  palace,  but 
all  the  places  used  for  public  business)  this  oc- 
casion was  to  be  taken  for  an  admonishment 
sent  from  God,  that  they  ought  to  rebuild  the 
palace  more  nobly,  and  in  a  way  more  befitting 
the  greatness  to  which,  by  God's  grace,  their 
dominions  had  reached;  and  that  his  motive 
in  proposing  this  was  neither  ambition,  nor 
selfish  interest:  that,  as  for  ambition,  they  might 

*  Tomaso  Mocenigo. 


228  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

have  seen  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  through 
so  many  years,  that  he  had  never  done  anything 
for  ambition,  either  in  the  city,  or  in  foreign 
business;  but  in  all  his  actions  had  kept  justice 
first  in  his  thoughts,  and  then  the  advantage  of 
the  state,  and  the  honor  of  the  Venetian  name: 
and  that,  as  far  as  regarded  his  private  interest, 
if  it  had  not  been  for  this  accident  of  the  fire, 
he  would  never  have  thought  of  changing  any- 
thing in  the  palace  into  either  a  more  sumptuous 
or  a  more  honorable  form;  and  that  during  the 
many  years  in  which  he  had  lived  in  it,  he  had 
never  endeavored  to  make  any  change,  but  had 
always  been  content  with  it,  as  his  predecessors 
had  left  it;  and  that  he  knew  well  that,  if  they 
took  in  hand  to  build  it  as  he  exhorted  and  be- 
sought them,  being  now  very  old,  and  broken 
down  with  many  toils,  God  would  call  him  to 
another  life  before  the  walls  were  raised  a  pace 
from  the  ground.  And  that  therefore  they 
might  perceive  that  he  did  not  advise  them  to 
raise  this  building  for  his  own  convenience,  but 
only  for  the  honor  of  the  city  and  its  Dukedom; 
and  that  the  good  of  it  would  never  be  felt  by 
him,  but  by  his  successors.'  Then  he  said,  that 
'  in  order,  as  he  had  always  done,  to  observe  the 
laws,  ...  he  had  brought  with  him  the  thou- 
sand ducats  which  had  been  appointed  as  the 
penalty  for  proposing  such  a  measure,  so  that  he 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  22$ 

might  prove  openly  to  all  men  that  it  was  not 
his  own  advantage  that  he  sought,  but  the  dig- 
nity of  the  state.'  "  There  was  no  one  (Sanuto 
goes  on  to  tell  us)  who  ventured,  or  desired,  to 
oppose  the  wishes  of  the  Doge;  and  the  thou- 
sand ducats  were  unanimously  devoted  to  the 
expenses  of  the  work.  "  And  they  set  them- 
selves with  much  diligence  to  the  work;  and 
the  palace  was  begun  in  the  form  and  manner  in 
which  it  is  at  present  seen;  but,  as  Mocenigo 
had  prophesied,  not  long  after,  he  ended  his  life, 
and  not  only  did  not  see  the  work  brought  to  a 
close,  but  hardly  even  begun." 

§  xxin.  There  are  one  or  two  expressions  in 
the  above  extracts  which  if  they  stood  alone, 
might  lead  the  reader  to  suppose  that  the  whole 
palace  had  been  thrown  down  and  rebuilt.  We 
must  however  remember,  that,  at  this  time,  the 
new  Council  Chamber,  which  had  been  one 
hundred  years  in  building,  was  actually  un- 
finished, the  council  had  not  yet  sat  in  it;  and 
it  was  just  as  likely  that  the  Doge  should  then 
propose  to  destroy  and  rebuild  it,  as  in  this  year, 
1853,  it  is  that  any  one  should  propose  in  our 
House  of  Commons  to  throw  down  the  new 
Houses  of  Parliament,  under  the  title  of  the 
"  old  palace,"  and  rebuild  them. 

§  xxiv.  The  manner  in  which  Sanuto  ex- 
presses himself  will  at  once  be  seen  to  be  per- 


230  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

fectly  natural,  when  it  is  remembered  that  al- 
though we  now  speak  of  the  whole  building  as 
the  "  Ducal  Palace,"  it  consisted,  in  the  minds 
of  the  old  Venetians,  of  four  distinct  buildings. 
There  were  in  it  the  palace,  the  state  prisons,  the 
senate-house,  and  the  offices  of  public  business; 
in  other  words,  it  was  Buckingham  Palace,  the 
Tower  of  olden  days,  the  Houses  of  Parliament, 
and  Downing  Street,  all  in  one;  and  any  of 
these  four  portions  might  be  spoken  of,  without 
involving  an  allusion  to  any  other.  "  II  Palazzo" 
was  the  Ducal  residence,  which,  with  most  of 
the  public  offices,  Mocenigo  did  propose  to  pull 
down  and  rebuild,  and  which  was  actually  pulled 
down  and  rebuilt.  But  the  new  Council  Cham- 
ber, of  which  the  whole  facade  to  the  Sea  con- 
sisted, never  entered  into  either  his  or  Sanuto's 
mind  for  an  instant,  as  necessarily  connected 
with  the  Ducal  residence. 

I  said  that  the  new  Council  Chamber,  at  the 
time  when  Mocenigo  brought  forward  his  meas- 
ure, had  never  yet  been  used.  It  was  in  the  year 
1422*  that  the  decree  passed  to  rebuild  the 
palace:  Mocenigo  died  in  the  following  year,f 

*  Vide  notes  in  Appendix. 

f  On  the  4th  of  April,  1423,  according  to  the  copy  of  the 
Zancarol  Chronicle  in  the  Marcian  Library,  but  previous- 
ly, according  to  the  Caroldo  Chronicle,  which  makes  Fos- 
cari  enter  the  Senate  as  Doge  on  the  3rd  of  April. 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  2$l 

and  Francesco  Foscari  was  elected  in  his  room. 
The  Great  Council  Chamber  was  used  for  the 
first  time  on  the  day  when  Foscari  entered  the 
Senate  as  Doge, — the  3rd  of  April,  1423,  accord- 
ing to  the  Caroldo  Chronicle;*  the  23rd,  which 
is  probably  correct,  by  an  anonymous  MS.,  No. 
60,  in  the  Correr  Museum  ;  f — and,  the  follow- 
ing year,  on  the  2yth  of  March,  the  first  hammer 
was  lifted  up  against  the  old  palace  of  Ziani.J 

§  xxv.  That  hammer  stroke  was  the  first  act 
of  the  period  properly  called  the  "  Renaissance  '* 
It  was  the  knell  of  the  architecture  of  Venice, 
— and  of  Venice  herself. 

The  central  epoch  of  her  life  was  past;  the 
decay  had  already  begun:  I  dated  its  commence- 
ment above  (Ch.  I.,  Vol.  I.)  from  the  death  of 
Mocenigo.  A  year  had  not  yet  elapsed  since  that 
great  Doge  had  been  called  to  his  account:  his- 
patriotism,  always  sincere,  had  been  in  this  in- 

*  "  Nella  quale  (the  Sala  del  Gran  Consiglio)  non  si 
fece  Gran  Consiglio  salvo  nell'  anno  1423,  alii  3,  April,  et 
fu  il  primo  giorno  che  il  Duce  Foscari  venisse  in  Gran 
Consiglio  dopo  la  sua  creatione." — Copy  in  Marcian  Li- 
brary, p.  365. 

f  "  E  a  di  23  April  (1423,  by  the  context)  sequente  fo 
fatto  Gran  Conseio  in  la  salla  nuovo  dovi  avanti  non  esta 
piu  fatto  Gran  Conseio  si  che  el  primo  Gran  Conseio  dopo 
la  sua  (Foscari' s)  creation  fo  fatto  in  la  sala  nuova,  nel 
qual  conseio  fu  el  Marchese  di  Mantoa, "  &c.,  p.  426. 

t  Compare  Appendix  I,  Vol.   III. 


232  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

stance  mistaken;  in  his  zeal  for  the  honor  of 
future  Venice,  he  had  forgotten  what  was  due  to 
the  Venice  of  long  ago.  A  thousand  palaces 
might  be  built  upon  her  burdened  islands,  but 
none  of  them  could  take  the  place,  or  recall  the 
memory,  of  that  which  was  first  built  upon  her 
unfrequented  shore.  It  fell;  and,  as  if  it  had 
been  the  talisman  of  her  fortunes,  the  city  never 
flourished  again. 

§  xxvi.  I  have  no  intention  of  following  out, 
in  their  intricate  details,  the  operations  which 
were  begun  under  Foscari  and  continued  under 
succeeding  Doges  till  the  palace  assumed  its 
present  form,  for  I  am  not  in  this  work  con- 
cerned, except  by  occasional  reference,  with  the 
architecture  of  the  fifteenth  century:  but  the 
main  facts  are  the  following.  The  palace  of  Ziani 
was  destroyed;  the  existing  facade  to  the  Piaz- 
zetta  built,  so  as  both  to  continue  and  to  re- 
semble, in  most  particulars,  the  work  of  the 
Great  Council  Chamber.  It  was  carried  back 
from  the  Sea  as  far  as  the  Judgment  angle;  be- 
yond which  is  the  Porta  della  Carta,  begun  in 
1439,  and  finished  in  two  years,  under  the  Doge 
Foscari;*  the  interior  buildings  connected  with 

*  "  Tutte  queste  failure  si  cotnpirono  sotto  il  dogado 
del  Foscari,  nel  1441." — Pareri,  p.  131. 


7'777i    DUCAL   PALACE.  233 

it  were  added  by  the   Doge  Christopher   More, 
(the  Othello  of  Shakspeare)  *  in  1462. 

§  xxvu.  By  reference  to  the  figure  the  reader 
will  see  that  we  have  now  gone  the  round  of  the 
palace,  and  that  the  new  work  of  1462  was  close 
upon  the  first  piece  of  the  Gothic  palace,  the  new 
Council  Chamber  of  1301.  Some  remnants  of 
the  Ziani  Palace  were  perhaps  still  left  between 
the  two  extremities  of  the  Gothic  Palace;  or  as  is 
more  probable,  the  last  stones  of  it  may  have 
been  swept  away  after  the  fire  of  1419,  and  re- 
placed by  new  apartments  for  the  Doge.  But 
whatever  buildings,  old  or  new,  stood  on  this 
spot  at  the  time  of  the  completion  of  the  Porta 
della  Carta  were  destroyed  by  another  great  fire 
in  1479,  together  with  so  much  of  the  palace  on 
the  Rio  that,  though  the  saloon  of  Gradenigo, 
then  known  as  the  Sala  de'  Pregadi,  was  not  de- 
stroyed, it  became  necessary  to  reconstruct  the 
entire  fagades  of  the  portion  of  the  palace  be- 


*  This  identification  has  been  accomplished,  and  I  think 
conclusively,  by  my  friend  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown,  who  has 
devoted  all  the  leisure  which,  during  the  last  twenty  years 
his  manifold  office  of  kindness  to  almost  every  English 
visitant  of  Venice  have  left  him,  in  discovering  and  trans- 
lating the  passages  of  the  Venetian  records  which  bear 
upon  English  history  and  literature.  I  shall  have  occasion 
to  take  advantage  hereafter  of  a  portion  of  his  labors, 
which  I  trust  will  shortly  be  made  public. 


234  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

hind  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  both  towards  the  court 
and  canal.  This  work  was  entrusted  to  the  best 
Renaissance  architects  of  the  close  of  the  fif- 
teenth and  opening  of  the  sixteenth  centuries; 
Antonio  Ricci  executing  the  Giant's  staircase, 
and  on  his  absconding  with  a  large  sum  of  the 
public  money,  Pietro  Lombardo  taking  his  place. 
The  whole  work  must  have  been  completed 
towards  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
The  architects  of  the  palace,  advancing  round 
the  square  and  led  by  fire,  had  more  than 
reached  the  point  from  which  they  had  set  out; 
and  the  work  of  1560  was  joined  to  the  work  of 
1301 — 1340,  at  the  point  marked  by  the  con- 
spicuous vertical  line  in  Figure  n  on  the  Rio 
Facade. 

§  xxvin.  But  the  palace  was  not  long  per- 
mitted to  remain  in  this  finished  form.  Another 
terrific  fire,  commonly  called  the  great  fire,  burst 
out  in  1574,  and  destroyed  the  inner  fittings  and 
all  the  precious  pictures  of  the  Great  Council 
Chamber,  and  of  all  the  upper  rooms  on  the  Sea 
Fa£ade,  and  most  of  those  on  the  Rio  Fagade, 
leaving  the  building  a  mere  shell,  shaken  and 
blasted  by  the  flames.  It  was  debated  in  the 
Great  Council  whether  the  ruin  should  not  be 
thrown  down,  and  an  entirely  new  palace  built 
in  its  stead.  The  opinions  of  all  the  leading  ar- 
chitects of  Venice  were  taken,  respecting  the 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  235 

safety  of  the  walls,  or  the  possibility  of  repairing 
them  as  they  stood.  These  opinions,  given  in 
writing,  have  been  preserved,  and  published  by 
the  Abbe  Cadorin,  in  the  work  already  so  often 
referred  to;  and  they  form  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant series  of  documents  connected  with  the 
Ducal  Palace. 

I  cannot  help  feeling  some  childish  pleasure 
in  the  accidental  resemblance  to  my  own  name 
in  that  of  the  architect  whose  opinion  was  first 
given  in  favor  of  the  ancient  fabric,  Giovanni 
Rusconi.  Others,  especially  Palladio,  wanted 
to  pull  down  the  .old  palace,  and  execute  designs 
of  their  own;  but  the  best  architects  in  Venice, 
and  to  his  immortal  honor,  chiefly  Francesco  San- 
sovino,  energetically  pleaded  for  the  Gothic  pile, 
and  prevailed.  It  was  successfully  repaired,  and 
Tintoret  painted  his  noblest  picture  on  the  wall 
from  which  the  Paradise  of  Guariento  had  with- 
ered before  the  flames. 

§  xxix.  The  repairs  necessarily  undertaken  at 
this  time  were  however  extensive,  and  interfered 
in  many  directions  with  the  earlier  work  of  the 
palace:  still  the  only  serious  alteration  in  its 
form  was  the  transposition  of  the  prisons,  former- 
ly at  the  top  of  the  palace  to  the  other  side  of 
the  Rio  del  Palazzo;  and  the  building  of  the 
Bridge  of  Sighs,  to  connect  them  with  the  palace, 
by  Antonio  da  Ponte.  The  completion  of  this 


236  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

work  brought  the  whole  edifice  into  its  present 
form;  with  the  exception  of  alterations  in  doors, 
partitions,  and  staircases  among  the  inner  apart- 
ments, not  worth  noticing,  and  such  barbarisms 
and  defacements  as  have  been  suffered  within 
the  last  fifty  years,  by,  I  suppose  nearly  every 
building  of  importance  in  Italy. 

§  xxx.  Now,  therefore,  we  are  at  liberty  to  ex- 
amine some  of  the  details  of  the  Ducal  Palace, 
without  any  doubt  about  their  dates.  I  shall  not 
however,  give  any  elaborate  illustrations  of  them 
here,  because  I  could  not  do  them  justice  on  the 
scale  of  the  page  of  this  volume,  or  by  means  of 
line  engraving.  I  believe  a  new  era  is  opening 
to  us  in  the  art  of  illustration,*  and  that  I  shall 
be  able  to  give  large  figures  of  the  details  of  the 
Ducal  Palace  at  a  price  which  will  enable  every 
person  who  is  interested  in  the  subject  to  possess 
them;  so  that  the  cost  and  labor  of  multiplying 
illustrations  here  would  be  altogether  wasted.  I 
shall  therefore  direct  the  reader's  attention  only 
to  such  points  of  interest  as  can  be  explained  in 
the  text. 

§  xxxi.  First,  then,  looking  back  to  the  wood- 
cut at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter,  the  reader 
will  observe  that,  as  the  building  was  very 

*  See  the  last  chapter  of  the  third  volume,  Stones  of 
Venice. 


THE   DUCAL   PALACE.  2$? 

nearly  square  on  the  ground  plan,  a  peculiar 
prominence  and  importance  were  given  to  its 
angles,  which  rendered  it  necessary  that  they 
should  be  enriched  and  softened  by  sculpture. 
I  do  not  suppose  that  the  fitness  of  this  arrange- 
ment will  be  questioned;  but  if  the  reader  will 
take  the  pains  to  glance  over  any  series  of 
engravings  of  church  towers  or  other  four-square 
buildings  in  which  great  refinement  of  form  has 
been  attained,  he  will  at  once  observe  how  their 
effect  depends  on  some  modification  of  the 
sharpness  of  the  angle,  either  by  groups  of  but- 
tresses, or  by  turrets  and  niches  rich  in  sculpt- 
ure. It  is  to  be  noted  also  that  this  principle 
of  breaking  the  angle  is  peculiarly  Gothic, 
arising  partly  out  of  the  necessity  of  strength- 
ening the  flanks  of  enormous  buildings,  where 
composed  of  imperfect  materials,  by  buttresses 
or  pinnacles;  partly  out  of  the  conditions  of 
Gothic  warfare,  which  generally  required  a  tower 
at  the  angle;  partly  out  of  the  natural  dislike 
of  the  meagreness  of  effect  in  buildings  which 
admitted  large  surfaces  of  wall,  if  the  angle 
were  entirely  unrelieved.  The  Ducal  Palace,  in 
its  acknowledgment  of  this  principle,  makes  a 
more  definite  concession  to  the  Gothic  spirit 
than  any  of  the  previous  architecture  of  Venice. 
No  angle,  up  to  the  time  of  its  erection,  had 
been  otherwise  decorated  than  by  a  narrow 


235  THE   STONES   OF    VENICE. 

fluted  pilaster  of  red  marble,  and  the  sculpture 
was  reserved  always,  as  in  Greek  and  Roman 
work,  for  the  plane  surfaces  of  the  building, 
with,  as  far  as  I  recollect,  two  exceptions  only, 
both  in  St.  Mark's;  namely,  the  bold  and  gro- 
tesque gargoyle  on  its  north-west  angle,  and  the 
angels  which  project  from  the  four  inner  angles 
under  the  main  cupola;  both  of  these  arrange- 
ments being  plainly  made  under  Lombardic 
influence.  And  if  any  other  instances  occur, 
which  I  may  have  at  present  forgotten,  I  am 
very  sure  the  Northern  influence  will  always  be 
distinctly  traceable  in  them. 

§  xxxn.  The  Ducal  Palace,  however,  accepts 
the  principle  in  its  completeness,  and  throws 
the  main  decoration  upon  its  angles.  The  cen- 
tral window,  which  looks  rich  and  important  in 
the  woodcut,  was  entirely  restored  in  the  Renais- 
sance time,  as  we  have  seen,  under  the  Doge 
Steno;  so  that  we  have  no  traces  of  its  early 
treatment;  and  the  principal  interest  of  the 
older  palace  is  concentrated  in  the  angle  sculpt- 
ure, which  is  arranged  in  the  following  manner. 
The  pillars  of  the  two  bearing  arcades  are  much 
enlarged  in  thickness  at  the  angles,  and  their 
capitals  increased  in  depth,  breadth,  and  fulness 
of  subject;  above  each  capital,  on  the  angle  of 
the  wall,  a  sculptural  subject  is  introduced,  con- 
sisting, in  the  great  lower  arcade,  of  two  or  more 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  239 

figures  of  the  size  of  life;  in  the  upper  arcade, 
of  a  single  angel  holding  a  scroll:  above  these 
angels  rise  the  twisted  pillars  with  their  crown- 
ing niches,  already  noticed  in  the  account  of 
parapets  in  the  seventh  chapter;  thus  forming 
an  unbroken  line  of  decoration  from  the  ground 
to  the  top  of  the  angle. 

§  xxxin.  It  was  before  noticed  that  one  of 
the  corners  of  the  palace  joins  the  irregular  outer 
buildings  connected  with  St.  Mark's,  and  is  not 
generally  seen.  There  remain,  therefore,  to  be 
decorated,  only  the  three  angles,  above  distin- 
guished as  the  Vine  angle,  the  Fig-tree  angle, 
and  the  Judgment  angle;  and  at  these  we  have, 
according  to  the  arrangement  just  explained, — 

First,  Three  great  bearing  capitals  (lower 
arcade). 

Secondly,  Three  figure  subjects  of  sculpture 
above  them  (lower  arcade). 

Thirdly,  Three  smaller  bearing  capitals  (upper 
arcade). 

Fourthly,  Three  angels  above  them  (upper 
arcade). 

Fifthly,  Three  spiral  shafts  with  niches. 

§  xxxiv.  I  shall  describe  the  bearing  capitals 
hereafter,  in  their  order,  with  the  others  of  the 
arcade;  for  the  first  point  to  which  the  reader's 
attention  ought  to  be  directed  is  the  choice  of 
subject  in  the  great  figure  sculptures  above 


240  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

them.  These,  observe,  are  the  very  corner 
stones  of  the  edifice,  and  in  them  we  may  expect 
to  find  the  most  important  evidences  of  the 
feeling,  as  well  as  the  skill,  of  the  builder.  If 
he  has  anything  to  say  to  us  of  the  purpose  with 
which  he  built  the  palace,  it  is  sure  to  be  said 
here;  if  there  was  any  lesson  which  he  wished 
principally  to  teach  to  those  for  whom  he  built, 
here  it  is  sure  to  be  inculcated;  if  there  was 
any  sentiment  which  they  themselves  desired  to 
have  expressed  in  the  principal  edifice  of  their 
city,  this  is  the  place  in  which  we  may  be 
secure  of  finding  it  legibly  inscribed. 

§  xxxv.  Now  the  first  two  angles,  of  the 
Vine  and  Fig-tree,  belong  to  the  old,  or  true 
Gothic,  Palace;  the  third  angle  belongs  to  the 
Renaissance  imitation  of  it:  therefore,  at  the 
first  two  angles,  it  is  the  Gothic  spirit  which  is 
going  to  speak  to  us;  and,  at  the  third,  the 
Renaissance  spirit. 

The  reader  remembers,  I  trust,  that  the  most 
characteristic  sentiment  of  all  that  we  traced  in 
the  working  of  the  Gothic  heart,  was  the  frank 
confession  of  its  own  weakness;  and  I  must 
anticipate,  for  a  moment,  the  results  of  our 
inquiry  in  subsequent  chapters,  so  far  as  to 
state  that  the  principal  element  in  the  Renais- 
sance spirit,  is  its  firm  confidence  in  its  own 
wisdom. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  24! 

Hear,  then,  the  two  spirits  speak  for  them- 
selves. 

The  first  main  sculpture  of  the  Gothic  Palace 
is  on  what  I  have  called  the  angle  of  the  Fig- 
tree: 

Its  subject  is  the  FALL  OF  MAN. 

The  second  sculpture  is  on  the  angle  of  the 
Vine: 

Its  subject  is  the  DRUNKENNESS  OF  NOAH. 

The  Renaissance  sculpture  is  on  the  Judg- 
ment angle: 

Its  subject  is  the  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON. 

It  is  impossible  to  overstate,  or  to  regard  with 
too  much  admiration,  the  significance  of  this 
single  fact.  It  is  as  if  the  palace  had  been 
built  at  various  epochs,  and  preserved  uninjured 
to  this  day,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  teaching  us 
the  difference  in  the  temper  of  the  two  schools. 

§  xxxvi.  I  have  called  the  sculpture  on  the 
Fig-tree  angle  the  principal  one;  because  it  is  at 
the  central  bend  of  the  palace,  where  it  turns  to 
the  Piazetta(the  fagade  upon  the  Piazetta  being, 
as  we  saw  above,  the  more  important  one  in 
ancient  times).  The  great  capital,  which  sus- 
tains this  Fig-tree  angle,  is  also  by  far  more 
elaborate  than  the  head  of  the  pilaster  under  the 
Vine  angle,  marking  the  preeminence  of  the 
former  in  the  architect's  mind.  It  is  impossible 
to  say  which  was  first  executed,  but  that  of  the 


242  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

Fig-tree  angle  is  somewhat  rougher  in  execution, 
and  more  stiff  in  the  design  of  the  figures,  so 
that  I  rather  suppose  it  to  have  been  the  earliest 
completed. 

§  xxxvu.  In  both  the  subjects,  of  the  Fall 
and  the  Drunkenness,  the  tree,  which  forms  the 
chiefly  decorative  portion  of  the  sculpture, — fig 
in  the  one  case,  vine  in  the  other, — was  a  neces- 
sary adjunct.  Its  trunk,  in  both  sculptures, 
forms  the  true  outer  angle  of  the  palace;  boldly 
cut  separate  from  the  stonework  behind,  and 
branching  out  above  the  figures  so  as  to  enwrap 
each  side  of  the  angle,  for  several  feet,  with  its 
deep  foliage.  Nothing  can  be  more  masterly 
or  superb  than  the  sweep  of  this  foliage  on  the 
Fig-tree  angle;  the  broad  leaves  lapping  round 
the  budding  fruit,  and  sheltering  from  sight, 
beneath  their  shadows,  birds  of  the  most  grace- 
ful form  and  delicate  plumage.  The  branches 
are,  however,  so  strong,  and  the  masses  of  stone 
hewn  into  leafage  so  large,  that,  notwithstanding 
the  depth  of  the  undercutting,  the  work  remains 
nearly  uninjured;  not  so  at  the  Vine  angle, 
where  the  natural  delicacy  of  the  vine-leaf  and 
tendril  having  tempted  the  sculptor  to  greater 
effort,  he  has  passed  the  proper  limits  of  his 
art,  and  cut  the  upper  stems  so  delicately  that 
half  of  them  have  been  broken  away  by  the 
casualties  to  which  the  situation  of  the  sculpt- 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE,  243 

ure  necessarily  exposes  it.  What  remains  is, 
however,  so  interesting  in  its  extreme  refinement, 
that  I  have  chosen  it  for  the  subject  of  the  first 
illustration*  rather  than  the  nobler  masses  of 
the  fig-tree,  which  ought  to  be  rendered  on  a 
larger  scale.  Although  half  of  the  beauty  of 
the  composition  is  destroyed  by  the  breaking 
away  of  its  central  masses,  there  is  still  enough 
in  the  distribution  of  the  variously  bending 
leaves,  and  in  the  placing  of  the  birds  on  the 
lighter  branches,  to  prove  to  us  the  power  of 
the  designer.  I  have  already  referred  to  this 
Plate  as  a  remarkable  instance  of  the  Gothic 
Naturalism;  and,  indeed,  it  is  almost  impossible 
for  the  copying  of  nature  to  be  carried  farther 
than  in  the  fibres  of  the  marble  branches,  and 
the  careful  finishing  of  the  tendrils:  note  espe- 
cially the  peculiar  expression  of  the  knotty  joints 
of  the  vine  in  the  light  branch  which  rises 
highest.  Yet  only  half  the  finish  of  the  work 
can  be  seen  in  the  Plate:  for,  in  several  cases, 
the  sculptor  has  shown  the  under  sides  of  the 
leaves  turned  boldly  to  the  light,  and  has  literally 
carved  every  rib  and  vein  upon  them,  in  relief; 
not  merely  the  main  ribs  which  sustain  the 
lobes  of  the  leaf,  and  actually  project  in  nature, 
but  the  irregular  and  sinuous  veins  which  chequer 

*  See  note  at  end  of  this  chapter. 


244  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

the  membranous  tissues  between  them,  and 
which  the  sculptor  has  represented  conven- 
tionally as  relieved  like  the  others,  in  order  to 
give  the  vine  leaf  its  peculiar  tessellated  effect 
upon  the  eye. 

§  xxxvui.  As  must  always  be  the  case  in  early 
sculpture,  the  figures  are  much  inferior  to  the 
leafage;  yet  so  skilful  in  many  respects,  that  it 
was  a  long  time  before  T  could  persuade  myself 
that  they  had  indeed  been  wrought  in  the  first 
half  of  the  fourteenth  century.  Fortunately, 
the  date  is  inscribed  upon  a  monument  in  the 
Church  of  San  Simeon  Grande,  bearing  a  recum- 
bent statue  of  the  saint,  of  far  finer  workman- 
ship, in  every  respect,  than  those  figures  of  the 
Ducal  Palace,  yet  so  like  them,  that  I  think 
there  can  be  no  question  that  the  head  of  Noah 
v/as  wrought  by  the  sculptor  of  the  palace  in 
emulation  of  that  of  the  statue  of  St.  Simeon. 
In  this  latter  sculpture,  the  face  is  represented 
in  death;  the  mouth  partly  open,  the  lips  thin 
and  sharp,  the  teeth  carefully  sculptured  beneath; 
the  face  full  of  quietness  and  majesty,  though 
very  ghastly;  the  hair  and  beard  flowing  in  lux- 
uriant wreaths,  disposed  with  the  most  masterly 
freedom,  yet  severity,  of  design,  far  down  upon 
the  shoulders;  the  hands  crossed  upon  the  body, 
carefully  studied,  and  the  veins  and  sinews  per- 
fectly and  easily  expressed,  yet  without  any  at- 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  245 

tempt  at  extreme  finish  or  display  of  technical 
skill.  This  monument  bears  date  1317,*  and  its 
sculptor  was  justly  proud  of  it;  thus  recording 
his  name: 

"  CELAVIT  MARCUS  OPUS  HOC  INSIGNE  ROMANIS, 
LAUDIBUS  NON  PARCUS  EST  SUA  DIGNAMANUS." 

§  xxxix.  The  head  of  the  Noah  on  the  Ducal 
Palace,  evidently  worked  in  emulation  of  this 
statue,  has  the  same  profusion  of  flowing  hair 
and  beard,  but  wrought  in  smaller  and  harder 
curls;  and  the  veins  on  the  arms  and  .breast  are 
more  sharply  drawn,  the  sculptor  being  evident- 
ly more  practised  in  keen  and  fine  lines  of  veg- 
etation than  in  those  of  the  figure;  so  thatr 
which  is  most  remarkable  in  a  workman  of  this 
early  period,  he  has  failed  in  telling  his  story 
plainly,  regret  and  wonder  being  so  equally 
marked  on  the  features  of  all  the  three  brothers 
that  it  is  impossible  to  say  which  is  intended  for 
Ham.  Two  of  the  heads  of  the  brothers  are 
seen  in  the  Plate;  the  third  figure  is  not  with  the 
rest  of  the  group,  but  set  at  a  distance  of  about 
twelve  feet,  on  the  other  side  of  the  arch  which 
springs  from  the  angle  capital. 

§  XL.  It  may  be  observed,  as  a  farther  evi- 

*   "  IN  XRI — NOTE   AMEN   ANNINCARNATIONIS   MCCCXVII. 

1NKSETBR."  "  In  the  name  of  Christ,  Amen,  in  the  year 
of  the  incarnation,  1317,  in  the  month  of  September,  "&c. 


246  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

dence  of  the  date  of  the  group,  that,  in  the  fig- 
ures of  all  the  three  youths,  the  feet  are  pro- 
tected simply  by  a  bandage  arranged  in  crossed 
folds  round  the  ankle  and  lower  part  of  the 
limb;  a  feature  of  dress  which  will  be  found  in 
nearly  every  piece  of  figure  sculpture  in  Venice, 
from  the  year  1300  to  1380,  and  of  which  the 
traveller  may  see  an  example  within  three  hun- 
dred yards  of  this  very  group,  in  the  bas-reliefs 
on  the  tomb  of  the  Doge  Andrea  Dandolo  (in 
St.  Mark's),  who  died  in  1354. 

§  XLI.  The  figures  of  Adam  and  Eve,  sculpt- 
ured on  each  side  of  the  Fig-tree  angle,  are 
more  stiff  than  those  of  Noah  and  his  sons,  but 
are  better  fitted  for  their  architectural  service; 
and  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  with  the  angular  body 
of  the  serpent  writhed  around  it,  is  more  nobly 
treated  as  a  terminal  group  of  lines  than  that  of 
the  vine. 

The  Renaissance  sculptor  of  the  figures  of  the 
Judgment  of  Solomon  has  very  nearly  copied 
the  fig-tree  from  this  angle,  placing  its  trunk  be- 
tween the  executioner  and  the  mother,  who  leans 
forward  to  stay  his  hand.  But,  though  the 
whole  group  is  much  more  free  in  design  than 
those  of  the  earlier  palace,  and  in  many  ways 
excellent  in  itself,  so  that  it  always  strikes  the 
eye  of  a  careless  observer  more  than  the  others, 
it  is  of  immeasurably  inferior  spirit  in  the  work- 


THE   DUCAL   PALACE.  247 

manship;  the  leaves  of  the  tree,  though  far  more 
studiously  varied  in  flow  than  those  of  the  fig- 
tree  from  which  they  are  partially  copied,  have 
none  of  its  truth  to  nature;  they  are  ill  set  on 
the  stems,  bluntly  defined  on  the  edges,  and 
their  curves  are  not  those  of  growing  leaves,  but 
of  wrinkled  drapery. 

§  XLII.  Above  these  three  sculptures  are  set, 
in  the  upper  arcade,  the  statues  of  the  archangels 
Raphael,  Michael,  and  Gabriel:  their  positions 
will  be  understood  by  reference  to  the  lowest 
figure  in  Plate  XVII.,  where  that  of  Raphael 
above  the  Vine  angle  is  seen  on  the  right.  A 
diminutive  figure  of  Tobit  follows  at  his  feet, 
and  he  bears  in  his  hand  a  scroll  with  this  in- 
scription: 

EFICE  Q 

SOFRE 

TUR  AFA 

EL  REVE 

RENDE_ 

QUIETU 

i.  e.  Effice  (quaeso?)  fretum,  Raphael  reverende, 
quietum.*  I  could  not  decipher  the  inscription 

*  ''Oh,  venerable  Raphael,  make  thou  the  gulf  calm, 
we  beseech  thee."  The  peculiar  office  of  the  angel 
Raphael  is,  in  general,  according  to  tradition,  the  restrain- 
ing the  harmful  influences  of  evil  spirits.  Sir  Charles 
Eastlake  told  me,  that  sometimes  in  this  office  he  is  repre- 


248  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

on  the  scroll  borne  by  the  angel  Michael;  and 
the  figure  of  Gabriel,  which  is  by  much  the  most 
beautiful  feature  of  the  Renaissance  portion  of 
the  palace,  has  only  in  its  hand  the  Annuncia- 
tion lily. 

§  XLIII.  Such  are  the  subjects  of  the  main 
sculptures  decorating  the  angles  of  the  palace; 
notable,  observe,  for  their  simple  expression  of 
two  feelings,  the  consciousness  of  human  frailty, 
and  the  dependence  upon  Divine  guidance  and 
protection:  this  being,  of  course,  the  general 
purpose  of  the  introduction  of  the  figures  of  the 
angels;  and,  I  imagine,  intended  to  be  more 
particularly  conveyed  by  the  manner  in  which 
the  small  figure  of  Tobit  follows  the  steps  of 
Raphael,  just  touching  the  hem  of  his  garment. 
We  have  next  to  examine  the  course  of  divinity 
and  of  natural  history  embodied  by  the  old 
sculpture  in  the  great  series  of  capitals  which 
support  the  lower  arcade  of  the  palace;  and 
which,  being  at  a  height  of  little  more  than 
eight  feet  above  the  eye,  might  be  read,  like  the 
pages  of  a  book,  by  those  (the  noblest  men  in 
Venice)  who  habitually  walked  beneath  the 

sented  bearing  the  gall  of  the  fish  caught  by  Tobit;  and 
reminded  me  of  the  peculiar  superstitions  of  the  Venetians 
respecting  the  raising  of  storms  by  fiends,  as  embodied 
in  the  well  known  tale  of  the  Fisherman  and  St.  Mark's 
ring. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  249 

shadow  of  this  great  arcade  at  the  time  of  their 
first  meeting  each  other  for  morning  converse. 

§  XLIV.  We  will  now  take  the  pillars  of  the 
Ducal  Palace  in  their  order.  It  has  already  been 
mentioned  (Vol.  I.  Chap.  I.  §  XLVI.)  that  there 
are,  in  all,  thirty-six  great  pillars  supporting  the 
lower  story;  and  that  these  are  to  be  counted 
from  right  to  left,  because  then  the  more  an- 
cient of  them  come  first:  and  that,  thus  ar- 
ranged, the  first,  which  is  not  a  shaft,  but  a  pi- 
laster, will  be  the  support  of  the  Vine  angle;  the 
eighteenth  will  be  the  great  shaft  of  the  Fig-tree 
angle;  and  the  thirty-sixth,  that  of  the  Judgment 
angle. 

§  XLV.  All  their  capitals,  except  that  of  the 
first,  are  octagonal,  and  are  decorated  by  sixteen 
leaves,  differently  enriched  in  every  capital,  but 
arranged  in  the  same  way;  eight  of  them  rising 
to  the  angles,  and  there  forming  volutes;  the 
eight  others  set  between  them,  on  the  sides,  ris- 
ing half-way  up  the  bell  of  the  capital;  there 
nodding  forward,  and  showing  above  them,  ris- 
ing out  of  their  luxuriance,  the  groups  or  single 
figures  which  we  have  to  examine.*  In  some 

*  I  have  given  one  of  these  capitals  carefully  already 
in  my  folio  work,  and  hope  to  give  most  of  the  others  in 
due  time.  It  was  of  no  use  to  draw  them  here,  as  the 
scale  would  have  been  too  small  to  allow  me  to  show  th? 
expression  of  the  figures. 


250  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

instances,  the  intermediate  or  lower  leaves  are 
reduced  to  eight  sprays  of  foliage;  and  the  capi- 
tal is  left  dependent  for  its  effect  on  the  bold 
position  of  the  figures.  In  referring  to  the  fig- 
ures on  the  octagonal  capitals,  I  shall  call  the 
outer  side,  fronting  either  the  Sea  or  the  Piaz- 
zetta,  the  first  side;  and  so  count  round  from  left 
to  right;  the  fourth  side  being  thus,  of  course, 
the  innermost.  As,  however,  the  first  five  arches 
were  walled  up  after  the  great  fire,  only  three 
sides  of  their  capitals  are  left  visible,  which  we 
may  describe  as  the  front  and  the  eastern  and 
western  sides  of  each. 

§  XLVI.  FIRST  CAPITAL:  i.e.  of  the  pilaster  at 
the  Vine  angle. 

In  front,  towards  the  Sea.  A  child  holding  a 
bird  before  him,  with  its  wings  expanded,  cover- 
ing his  breast. 

On  its  eastern  side.  Children's  heads  among 
leaves. 

On  its  western  side.  A  child  carrying  in  one 
hand  a  comb;  in  the  other,  a  pair  of  scissors. 

It  appears  curious,  that  this,  the  principal  pi- 
laster of  the  fa£ade,  should  have  been  decorated 
only  by  these  graceful  grotesques,  for  I  can 
hardly  suppose  them  anything  more.  There  may 
be  meaning  in  them,  but  I  will  not  venture  to 
conjecture  any,  except  the  very  plain  and  prac- 
tical meaning  conveyed  by  the  last  figure  to  all 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  2$  I 

Venetian  children,  which  it  would  be  well  if  they 
would  act  upon.  For  the  rest,  I  have  seen  the 
comb  introduced  in  grotesque  work  as  early  as 
the  thirteenth  century,  but  generally  for  the 
purpose  of  ridiculing  too  great  care  in  dressing 
the  hair,  which  assuredly  is  not  its  purpose  here. 
The  children's  heads  are  very  sweet  and  full  of 
life,  but  the  eyes  sharp  and  small. 

§  XLVII.  SECOND  CAPITAL.  Only  three  sides 
of  the  original  work  are  left  unburied  by  the 
mass  of  added  wall.  Each  side  has  a  bird,  one 
web-footed,  with  a  fish,  one  clawed,  with  a  ser- 
pent, which  opens  its  jaws,  and  darts  its  tongue 
at  the  bird's  breast;  the  third  pluming  itself, 
with  a  feather  between  the  mandibles  of  its  bill. 
It  is  by  far  the  most  beautiful  of  the  three  capi- 
tals decorated  with  birds. 

THIRD  CAPITAL.  Also  has  three  sides  only 
left.  They  have  three  heads,  large,  and  very  ill 
cut;  one  female,  and  crowned. 

FOURTH  CAPITAL.  Has  three  children.  The 
eastern  one  is  defaced:  the  one  in  front  holds 
a  small  bird,  whose  plumage  is  beautifully  indi- 
cated, in  its  right  hand;  and  with  its  left  holds 
up  half  a  walnut,  showing  the  nut  inside:  the 
third  holds  a  fresh  fig,  cut  through,  showing  the 
seeds. 

The  hair  of  all  the  three  children  is  differently 
worked:  the  first  has  luxuriant  flowing  hair,  and 


252  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

a  double  chin ;  the  second,  light  flowing  hair  fall- 
ing in  pointed  locks  on  the  forehead;  the  third, 
crisp  curling  hair,  deep  cut  with  drill  holes. 

This  capital  has  been  copied  on  the  Renais- 
sance side  of  the  palace,  only  with  such  changes 
in  the  ideal  of  the  children  as  the  workman 
thought  expedient  and  natural.  It  is  highly  in- 
teresting to  compare  the  child  of  the  fourteenth 
with  the  child  of  the  fifteenth  century.  The 
early  heads  are  full  of  youthful  life,  playful, 
humane,  affectionate,  beaming  with  sensation 
and  vivacity,  but  with  much  manliness  and  firm- 
ness, also,  not  a  little  cunning,  and  some  cruelty 
perhaps,  beneath  all;  the  features  small  and  hard, 
and  the  eyes  keen.  There  is  the  making  of  rough 
and  great  men  in  them.  But  the  children  of  the 
fifteenth  century  are  dull  smooth-faced  dunces, 
without  a  single  meaning  line  in  the  fatness  of 
their  stolid  cheeks;  and,  although,  in  the  vulgar 
sense,  as  handsome  as  the  other  children  are  ugly, 
capable  of  becoming  nothing  but  perfumed  cox- 
combs. 

FIFTH  CAPITAL.  Still  three  sides  only  left, 
bearing  three  half-length  statues  of  kings;  this  is 
the  first  capital  which  bears  any  inscription.  In 
front,  a  king  with  a  sword  in  his  right  hand 
points  to  a  handkerchief  embroidered  and 
fringed,  with  a  head  on  it,  carved  on  the  cavetto 
of  the  abacus.  His  name  is  written  above, 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  255, 

"TITUS    VESPASIAN     IMPERATOR"    (contracted 


On  eastern  side,  "TRAJANUS  IMPERATOR." 
Crowned,  a  sword  in  right  hand,  and  sceptre  in 
left. 

On  western,  "  (OCT)AVIANUS  AUGUSTUS  IMPER- 
ATOR." The  "  OCT  "  is  broken  away.  He  bears 
a  globe  in  his  right  hand,  with  "  MUNDUS  PACIS  " 
upon  it;  a  sceptre  in  his  left,  which  I  think  has 
terminated  in  a  human  figure.  He  has  a  flow- 
ing beard,  and  a  singularly  high  crown;  the  face 
is  much  injured,  but  has  once  been  very  noble 
in  expression. 

SIXTH  CAPITAL.  Has  large  male  and  female 
heads,  very  coarsely  cut,  hard,  and  bad. 

§  XLVIII.  SEVENTH  CAPITAL.  This  is  the  first 
of  the  series  which  is  complete;  the  first  open 
arch  of  the  lower  arcade  being  between  it  and 
the  sixth.  It  begins  the  representation  of  the 
Virtues. 

First  side.  Largitas,  or  Liberality:  always 
distinguished  from  the  higher  Charity.  A  male 
figure,  with  his  lap  full  of  money,  which  he  pours 
out  of  his  hand.  The  coins  are  plain,  circular, 
and  smooth;  there  is  no  attempt  to  mark  device 
upon  them.  The  inscription  above  is,  "  LARGI- 
TAS ME  ONORAT." 

In  the  copy  of  this  design  on  the  twenty-fifth 


254  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

capital,  instead  of  showering  out  the  gold  from 
his  open  hand,  the  figure  holds  it  in  a  plate  or 
salver,  introduced  for  the  sake  of  disguising  the 
direct  imitation.  The  changes  thus  made  in  the 
Renaissance  pillars  are  always  injuries. 

This  virtue  is  the  proper  opponent  of  Avarice; 
though  it  does  not  occur  in  the  systems  of  Or- 
cagna  or  Giotto,  being  included  in  Charity.  It 
was  a  leading  virtue  with  Aristotle  and  the 
other  ancients. 

§  XLIX.  Second  side.  Constancy;  not  very 
characteristic.  An  armed  man  with  a  sword  in 
his  hand,  inscribed,  "  CONSTANTIA  SUM,  NIL 
TIMENS." 

This  virtue  is  one  of  the  forms  of  fortitude, 
and  Giotto  therefore  sets  as  the  vice  opponent 
to  Fortitude, "  Inconstantia,"  represented  as  a 
•woman  in  loose  drapery,  falling  from  a  rolling 
globe.  The  vision  seen  in  the  interpreter's  house 
in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  of  the  man  with  a  very- 
bold  countenance,  who  says  to  him  who  has  the 
writer's  ink-horn  by  his  side, "  Set  down  my 
name,"  is  the  best  personification  of  the  Venetian 
"  Constantia  "  of  which  I  am  aware  in  literature. 
It  would  be  well  for  us  all  to  consider  whether 
we  have  yet  given  the  order  to  the  man  with  the 
ink-horn,  "  Set  down  my  name." 

§  L.  Third  side.  Discord  ;  holding  up  her 
finger,  but  needing  the  inscription  above  to  as- 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE,  255 

sure  us  of  her  meaning,  "  DISCORDIA  SUM,  DIS- 
CORDIANS."  In  the  Renaissance  copy  she  is  a 
meek  and  nun-like  person  with  a  veil. 

She  is  the  Ate  of  Spencer;  "  mother  of  de- 
bate," thus  described  in  the  fourth  book  : 

"  Her  face  most  fowle  and  filthy  was  to  see, 
With  squinted  eyes  contrarie  wayes  intended ; 
And  loathly  mouth,  unmeete  a  mouth  to  bee, 
That  nought  but  gall  and  venim  comprehended, 
And  wicked  wordes  that  God  and  man  offended : 
Her  lying  tongue  was  in  two  parts  divided, 
And  both  the  parts  did  speake,  and  both  contended; 
And  as  her  tongue,  so  was  her  hart  discided, 

That  never  thoght  one  thing,  but  doubly  stil  was  guided." 

Note  the  fine  old  meanimg  of  "  discided,"  cut 
in  two;  it  is  a  great  pity  we  have  lost  this 
powerful  expression.  We  might  keep  "  deter- 
mined "  for  the  other  sense  of  the  word. 

§  LI.  Fourth  side.  Patience.  A  female  figure, 
very  expressive  and  lovely,  in  a  hood,  with  her 
right  hand  on  her  breast,  the  left  extended,  in- 
scribed "  PATIENTIA  MANET  MECUM." 

She  is  one  of  the  principal  virtues  in  all  the 
Christian  systems:  a  masculine  virtue  in  Spenser, 
and  beautifully  placed  as  the  Physician  in  the 
House  of  Holinesse.  The  opponent  vice,  Im- 
patience, is  one  of  the  hags  who  attend  the 
Captain  of  the  Lusts  of  the  Flesh;  the  other 
being  Impotence.  In  like  manner,  in  the  "  Pil- 


256  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

grim' s  Progress,"  the  opposite  of  Patience  is 
Passion;  but  Spenser's  thought  is  farther  carried. 
His  two  hags,  Impatience  and  Impotence,  as  at- 
tendant upon  the  evil  spirit  of  Passion,  embrace 
all  the  phenomena  of  human  conduct,  down 
even  to  the  smallest  matters,  according  to  the 
adage,  "  More  haste,  worse  speed." 

§  LII.  Fifth  side.  Despair.  A  female  figure 
thrusting  a  dagger  into  her  throat,  and  tearing  her 
long  hair,  which  flows  down  among  the  leaves  of 
the  capital  below  her  knees.  One  of  the  finest 
figures  of  the  series;  inscribed  "  DESPERACIO 
MOS  (mortis  ?)  CRUDELIS."  In  the  Renaissance 
copy  she  is  totally  devoid  of  expression,  and  ap- 
pears, instead  of  tearing  her  hair,  to  be  dividing 
it  into  long  curls  on  each  side. 

This  vice  is  the  proper  opposite  of  Hope.  By 
Giotto  she  is  represented  as  a  woman  hanging 
herself,  a  fiend  coming  for  her  soul.  Spenser's 
vision  of  Despair  is  well  known,  it  being  indeed 
currently  reported  that  this  part  of  the  Faerie 
Queen  was  the  first  which  drew  to  it  the  atten- 
tion of  Sir  Philip  Sidney. 

§  LIU.  Sixth  side.  Obedience:  with  her  arms 
folded;  meek,  but  rude  and  commonplace,  look- 
ing at  a  little  dog  standing  on  its  hind  legs  and 
begging,  with  a  collar  round  its  neck.  Inscribed 
"  OBEDIENTI*  *;"  the  rest  of  the  sentence  is 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


much  defaced,  but  looks  like  A'ODO  £|  KIP^Q  « 

I  suppose  the  note  of  contraction  above  the  final 
A  has  disappeared  and  that  the  inscription  was 
"  Obedientiam  domino  exhibeo." 

This  virtue  is,  of  course,  a  principal  one  in 
the  monkish  systems;  represented  by  Giotto  at 
Assisi  as  "  an  angel  robed  in  black,  placing  the 
finger  of  his  left  hand  on  his  mouth,  and  passing 
the  yoke  over  the  head  of  a  Franciscan  monk 
kneeling  at  his  feet."  * 

Obedience  holds  a  less  principal  place  in 
Spenser.  We  have  seen  her  above  associated 
with  the  other  peculiar  virtues  of  womanhood. 

§  LIV.  Seventh  side.  Infidelity.  A  man  in  a 
turban,  with  a  small  image  in  his  hand,  or  the 
image  of  a  child.  Of  the  inscription  nothing 
but  "  INFIDELITATE  *  *  *  "  and  some  fragment- 
ary letters,  "  ILI,  CERO,"  remain. 

By  Giotto  Infidelity  is  most  nobly  symbolized 
as  a  woman  helmeted,  the  helmet  having  a 
broad  rim  which  keeps  the  light  from  her  eyes. 
She  is  covered  with  heavy  drapery,  stands  in- 
firmly as  if  about  to  fall,  is  bound  by  a  cord  round 
her  neck  to  an  image  which  she  carries  in  her 
hand,  and  has  flames  bursting  forth  at  her  feet. 

*  Lord  Lindsay,  vol.  ii.  p.  226. 


258  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

In  Spenser,  Infidelity  is  the  Saracen  knight 
Sans  Foy, — 

' '  Full  large  of  limbe  and  every  joint 
He  was,  and  cared  not  for  God  or  man  a  point." 

For  the  part  which  he  sustains  in  the  contest 
with  Godly  Fear,  or  the  Red-cross  knight,  see 
Appendix  2,  Vol.  III. 

§  LV.  Eighth  side.  Modesty;  bearing  a  pitcher. 
(In  the  Renaissance  copy,  a  vase  like  a  coffee- 
pot.) Inscribed  "  MODESTIA  JK>Bl!OATIl{(|0»* 

I  do  not  find  this  virtue  in  any  of  the  Italian 
series,  except  that  of  Venice.  In  Spenser  she  is 
of  course  one  of  those  attendant  on  Woman- 
hood, but  occurs  as  one  of  the  tenants  of  the 
Heart  of  Man,  thus  portrayed  in  the  second 
book: 

"  Straunge  was  her  tyre,  and  all  her  garment  blew. 
Close  rownd  about  her  tuckt  with  many  a  plight: 
Upon  her  fist  the  bird  which  shonneth  vew. 

And  ever  and  anone  with  rosy  red 

The  bashfull  blood  her  snowy  cheekes  did  dye, 

That  her  became,  as  polisht  yvory 

Which  cunning  craftesman  hand  hath  overlayd 

With  fayre  vermilion  or  pure  castory." 

§  LVI.  EIGHTH  CAPITAL.  It  has  no  inscrip- 
tions, and  its  subjects  are  not,  by  themselves, 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  259 

intelligible;  but  they  appear  to  be  typical  of  the 
degradation  of  human  instincts. 

First  side.  A  caricature  of  Arion  on  his 
dolphin;  he  wears  a  cap  ending  in  a  long  pro- 
boscis-like horn,  and  plays  a  violin  with  a  curious 
twitch  of  the  bow  and  wag  of  the  head,  very 
graphically  expressed,  but  still  without  anything 
approaching  to  the  power  of  Northern  grotesque. 
His  dolphin  has  a  goodly  row  of  teeth,  and  the 
waves  beat  over  his  back. 

Second  side.  A  human  figure,  with  curly  hair 
and  the  legs  of  a  bear;  the  paws  laid,  with  great 
sculptural  skill,  upon  the  foliage.  It  plays  a 
violin,  shaped  like  a  guitar,  with  a  bent  double- 
stringed  bow. 

Third  side.  A  figure  with  a  serpent's  tail  and 
a  monstrous  head,  founded  on  a  Negro  type, 
hollow-cheeked,  large-lipped,  and  wearing  a  cap 
made  of  a  serpent's  skin,  holding  a  fir-cone  in  its 
hand. 

Fourth  side.  A  monstrous  figure,  terminating 
below  in  a  tortoise.  It  is  devouring  a  gourd, 
which  it  grasps  greedily  with  both  hands;  it  wears 
a  cap  ending  in  a  hoofed  leg. 

Fifth  side.  A  centaur  wearing  a  crested 
helmet,  and  holding  a  curved  sword. 

Sixth  side.  A  knight,  riding  a  headless  horse, 
and  wearing  a  chain  armor,  with  a  triangular 


26O  THE   Sl^ONES   OF    VENICE. 

shield  flung  behind  his  back,  and  a  two-edged 
sword. 

Seventh  side.  A  figure  like  that  on  the  fifth,, 
wearing  a  round  helmet,  and  with  the  legs  and 
tail  of  a  horse.  He  bears  a  long  mace  with  a 
top  like  a  fir-cone. 

Eighth  side.  A  figure  with  curly  hair,  and  an 
acorn  in  its  hand,  ending  below  in  a  fish. 

§  LVII.  NINTH  CAPITAL.  First  side.  Faith. 
She  has  her  left  hand  on  her  breast,  and  the 
cross  on  her  right.  Inscribed  "  FIDES  OPTIMA  IN 
DEO."  The  Faith  of  Giotto  holds  the  cross  in 
her  right  hand;  in  her  left,  a  scroll  with  the 
Apostles'  Creed.  She  treads  upon  cabalistic 
books,  and  has  a  key  suspended  to  her  waist. 
Spenser's  Faith  (Fidelia)  is  still  more  spiritual 
and  noble: 

"  She  was  araied  all  in  lilly  white, 

And  in  her  right  hand  bore  a  cup  of  gold, 

With  wine  and  water  fild  up  to  the  hight, 

In  which  a  serpent  did  himself e  enfold, 

That  horrour  made  to  all  that  did  behold; 

But  she  no  whitt  did  chaunge  her  constant  mood : 

And  in  her  other  hand  she  fast  did  hold 

A  booke,  that  was  both  signd  and  seald  with  blood ; 

Wherein  darke  things  were  writt,  hard  to  be  understood. " 

§  LVIII.  Second  side.  Fortitude.  A  long-beard- 
ed man  [Samson?]  tearing  open  a  lion's  jaw.  The 
inscription  is  illegible,  and  the  somewhat  vulgar 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  26 1 

personification  appears  to  belong  rather  to 
Courage  than  Fortitude.  On  the  Renaissance 
copy  it  is  inscribed  "  FORTITUDO  SUM  VIRILIS." 
The  Latin  word  has,  perhaps,  been  received  by 
the  sculptor  as  merely  signifying  "  Strength,"  the 
rest  of  the  perfect  idea  of  this  virtue  having 
been  given  in  "  Constantia"  previously.  But 
both  these  Venetian  symbols  together  do  not 
at  all  approach  the  idea  of  Fortitude  as  given 
generally  by  Giotto  and  the  Pisan  sculptors; 
clothed  with  a  lion's  skin,  knotted  about  her 
neck,  and  falling  to  her  feet  in  deep  folds;  draw- 
ing back  her  right  hand,  with  the  sword  pointed 
towards  her  enemy;  and  slightly  retired  behind 
her  immovable  shield,  which,  with  Giotto,  is 
square,  and  rested  on  the  ground  like  a  tower, 
covering  her  up  to  above  her  shoulders;  bearing 
on  it  a  lion,  and  with  broken  heads  of  javelins 
deeply  infixed. 

Among  the  Greeks,  this  is,  of  course,  one  of 
the  principal  virtues;  apt,  however,  in  their  ordi- 
nary conception  of  it  to  degenerate  into  mere 
manliness  or  courage. 

§  LIX.  Third  side.  Temperance;  bearing  a 
pitcher  of  water  and  a  cup.  Inscription,  illegible 
here,  and  on  the  Renaissance  copy  nearly  so, 

"  TEMPERANTIA    SUM"    (iNOM*  L8)?   Only   left.       In 

this  somewhat  vulgar  and  most  frequent  concep- 
tion of  this  virtue  (afterwards  continually  re- 


262  THE   STONES  OF   VENICE. 

peated,  as  by  Sir  Joshua  in  his  window  at  New 
College)  temperance  is  confused  with  mere 
abstinence,  the  opposite  of  Gula,  or  gluttony; 
whereas  the  Greek  Temperance,  a  truly  cardinal 
virtue,  is  the  moderator  of  all  the  passions,  and 
so  represented  by  Giotto,  who  has  placed  a  bridle 
upon  her  lips,  and  a  sword  in  her  hand,  the  hilt 
of  which  she  is  binding  to  the  scabbard.  In  his 
system,  she  is  opposed  among  the  vices,  not  by 
Gula  or  Gluttony,  but  by  Ira,  Anger.  So  also 
the  Temperance  of  Spenser,  or  Sir  Guyon,  but 
with  mingling  of  much  sternness: 

'  '  A  goodly  knight,  all  armd  in  harnesse  meete, 
That  from  his  head  no  place  appeared  to  his  feete, 
His  carriage  was  full  comely  and  upright; 
His  countenance  demure  and  temperate; 
But  yett  so  sterne  and  terrible  in  sight, 
That  cheard  his  friendes,  and  did  his  foes  amate." 


The  Temperance  of  the  Greeks, 
involves  the  idea  of  Prudence,  and  is  a  most 
noble  virtue,  yet  properly  marked  by  Plato  as 
inferior  to  sacred  enthusiasm,  though  necessary 
for  its  government.  He  opposes  it,  under  the 
name  "  Mortal  Temperance"  or  "  the  Temper- 
ance which  is  of  men,"  to  divine  madness,  f*avia, 
or  inspiration;  but  he  most  justly  and  nobly  ex- 
presses the  general  idea  of  it  under  the  term 
vfipis,  which,  in  the  "  Phaedrus,"  is  divided  into 
various  intemperances  with  respect  to  various 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  263 

objects,  and  set  forth  under  the  image  of  a  black, 
vicious,  diseased  and  furious  horse,  yoked  by  the 
side  of  Prudence  or  Wisdom  (set  forth  under  the 
figure  of  a  white  horse  with  a  crested  and  noble 
head,  like  that  which  we  have  among  the  Elgin 
Marbles)  to  the  chariot  of  the  Soul.  The  system 
of  Aristotle,  as  above  stated,  is  throughout  a 
mere  complicated  blunder,  supported  by  soph- 
istry, the  laboriously  developed  mistake  of  Tem- 
perance for  the  essence  of  the  virtues  which  it 
guides.  Temperance  in  the  mediaeval  systems 
is  generally  opposed  by  Anger,  or  by  Folly,  or 
Gluttony:  but  her  proper  opposite  is  Spenser's 
Acrasia,  the  principal  enemy  of  Sir  Guyon,  at 
whose  gates  we  find  the  subordinate  vice  "  Ex- 
cesse,"  as  the  introduction  to  Intemperance;  a 
graceful  and  feminine  image,  necessary  to  illus- 
trate the  more  dangerous  forms  of  subtle  intem- 
perance, as  opposed  to  the  brutal  "  Gluttony"  in 
the  first  book.  She  presses  grapes  into  a  cup, 
because  of  the  words  of  St.  Paul,  "  Be  not  drunk 
with  wine,  wherein  is  excess;"  but  always  deli- 
cately, 

"  Into  her  cup  she  scruzd  with  daintie  breach 
Of  her  fine  fingers,  without  fowle  empeach, 
That  so  faire  winepresse  made  the  wine  more  sweet." 

The  reader  will,  I  trust,  pardon  these  frequent 
extracts  from  Spenser,  for  it  is  nearly  as  neces- 
sary to  point  out  the  profound  divinity  and  phi- 


264  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

losophy  of  our  great  English  poet,  as  the  beauty 
of  the  Ducal  Palace. 

§  LX.  Fourth  side.  Humility;  with  a  veil 
upon  her  head,  carrying  a  lamp  in  her  lap.  In- 
scribed in  the  copy,  "  HUMILITAS  HABITAT  IN 
ME." 

This  virtue  is  of  course  a  peculiarly  Christian 
one,  hardly  recognized  in  the  Pagan  systems, 
though  carefully  impressed  upon  the  Greeks  in 
early  life  in  a  manner  which  at  this  day  it  would 
be  well  if  we  were  to  imitate,  and,  together  with 
an  almost  feminine  modesty,  giving  an  exquisite 
grace  to  the  conduct  and  bearing  of  the  well- 
educated  Greek  youth.  It  is,  of  course,  one  of 
the  leading  virtues  in  all  the  monkish  systems, 
but  I  have  not  any  notes  of  the  manner  of  its 
representation. 

§  LXI.  Fifth  side.  Charity.  A  woman  with 
her  lap  full  of  loaves  (?),  giving  one  to  a  child, 
who  stretches  his  arm  out  for  it  across  a  broad 
gap  in  the  leafage  of  the  capital. 

Again  very  far  inferior  to  the  Giottesque 
rendering  of  this  virtue.  In  the  Arena  Chapel 
she  is  distinguished  ^from  all  the  other  virtues 
by  having  a  circular  glory  round  her  head,  and 
a  cross  of  fire;  she  is  crowned  with  flowers,  pre- 
sents with  her  right  hand  a  vase. of  corn  and 
fruit,  and  with  her  left  receives  treasure  from 
Christ,  who  appears  above  her,  to  provide  her 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  26$ 

with  the  means  of  continual  offices  of  benefi- 
cence, while  she  tramples  under  foot  the  treas- 
ures of  the  earth. 

The  peculiar  beauty  of  most  of  the  Italian 
conceptions  of  Charity,  is  in  the  subjection  of 
mere  munificence  to  the  glowing  of  her  love, 
always  represented  by  flames;  here  in  the  form 
of  a  cross  round  her  head;  in  Orcagna's  shrine 
at  Florence,  issuing  from  a  censer  in  her  hand; 
and,  with  Dante,  inflaming  her  whole  form,  so 
that,  in  a  furnace  of  clear  fire,  she  could  not 
have  been  discerned. 

Spenser  represents  her  as  a  mother  surrounded 
by  happy  children,  an  idea  afterwards  grievously 
hackneyed  and  vulgarized  by  English  painters 
and  sculptors. 

§  LXII.  Sixth  side.  Justice.  Crowned,  and 
with  sword.  Inscribed  in  the  copy,  "  REX  SUM 
JUSTICIE." 

This  idea  was  afterwards  much  amplified  and 
adorned  in  the  only  good  capital  of  the  Renais- 
sance series,  under  the  Judgment  angle.  Giotto 
has  also  given  his  whole  strength  to  the  painting 
of  this  virtue,  representing  her  as  enthroned 
under  a  noble  Gothic  canopy,  holding  scales, 
not  by  the  beam,  but  one  in  each  hand;  a  beau- 
tiful idea,  showing  that  the  equality  of  the  scales 
of  Justice  is  not  owing  to  natural  laws,  but  to  her 
own  immediate  weighing  the  opposed  causes  in 


266  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

her  own  hands.  In  one  scale  is  an  executioner 
beheading  a  criminal;  in  the  other  an  angel 
crowning  a  man  who  seems  (in  Selvatico's  plate) 
to  have  been  working  at  a  desk  or  table. 

Beneath  her  feet  is  a  small  predella,  repre- 
senting various  persons  riding  securely  in  the 
woods,  and  others  dancing  to  the  sound  of  music. 

Spenser's  Justice,  Sir  Artegall,  is  the  hero  of 
an  entire  book,  and  the  betrothed  knight  of 
Britomart,  or  chastity. 

§  LXIII.  Seventh  side.  Prudence.  A  man 
with  a  book  and  a  pair  of  compasses,  wearing  the 
noble  cap,  hanging  down  towards  the  shoulder, 
and  bound  in  a  fillet  round  the  brow,  which  oc- 
curs so  frequently  during  the  fourteenth  century 
in  Italy  in  the  portraits  of  men  occupied  in  any 
civil  capacity. 

This  virtue  is,  as  we  have  seen,  conceived 
under  very  different  degrees  of  dignity,  from 
mere  worldly  prudence  up  to  heavenly  wisdom, 
being  opposed  sometimes  by  Stultitia,  sometimes 
by  Ignorantia.  I  do  not  find,  in  any  of  the  rep- 
resentations of  her,  that  her  truly  distinctive 
character,  namely,  forethought,  is  enough  in- 
sisted upon:  Giotto  expresses  her  vigilance  and 
just  measurement  or  estimate  of  all  things  by 
painting  her  as  Janus-headed,  and  gazing  into 
a  convex  mirror,  with  compasses  in  her  right 
hand;  the  convex  mirror  showing  her  power  of 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  267 

looking  at  many  things  in  small  compass.  But 
forethought  or  anticipation,  by  which,  indepen- 
dently of  greater  or  less  natural  capacities,  one 
man  becomes  more  prudent  than  another,  is 
never  enough  considered  or  symbolized. 

The  idea  of  this  virtue  oscillates,  in  the  Greek 
systems,  between  Temperance  and  Heavenly 
Wisdom. 

§  LXIV.  Eighth  side.  Hope.  A  figure  full  of 
devotional  expression,  holding  up  its  hands  as 
in  prayer,  and  looking  to  a  hand  which  is  ex- 
tended towards  it  out  of  sunbeams.  In  the 
Renaissance  copy  this  hand  does  not  appear. 

Of  all  the  virtues,  this  is  the  most  distinct- 
ively Christian  (it  could  not,  of  course,  enter 
definitely  into  any  Pagan  scheme);  and  above 
all  others,  it  seems  to  me  the  testing  virtue, — 
that  by  the  possession  of  which  we  may  most 
certainly  determine  whether  we  are  Christians 
or  not;  for  many  men  have  charity,  that  is  to 
say,  general  kindness  of  heart,  or  even  a  kind  of 
faith,  who  have  not  any  habitual  hope  of,  or 
longing  for,  heaven.  The  Hope  of  Giotto  is 
represented  as  winged,  rising  in  the  air,  while  an 
angel  holds  a  crown  before  her.  I  do  not  know 
if  Spenser  was  the  first  to  introduce  our  marine 
virtue,  leaning  on  an  anchor,  a  symbol  as  inac- 
curate as  it  is  vulgar:  for,  in  the  first  place,  an- 
chors are  not  for  men,  but  for  ships;  and  in  the 


268  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

second,  anchorage  is  the  characteristic  not  of 
Hope,  but  of  Faith.     Faith  is  dependent,  but 
Hope  is  aspirant.    Spenser,  however,  introduces 
Hope  twice, — the  first  time  as  the  Virtue  with 
the  anchor;  but  afterwards  fallacious  Hope,  far 
more  beautifully,  in  the  Masque  of  Cupid: 
' '  She  always  smyld,  and  in  her  hand  did  hold 
An  holy-water  sprinckle,  dipt  in  deowe." 

§  LXV.  TENTH  CAPITAL.  First  side.  Luxury 
(the  opposite  of  chastity,  as  above  explained). 
A  woman  with  a  jewelled  chain  across  her  fore- 
head, smiling  as  she  looks  into  a  mirror,  expos- 
ing her  breast  by  drawing  down  her  dress  with 
one  hand.  Inscribed  "  LUXURIA  SUM  IMENSA." 

These  subordinate  forms  of  vice  are  not  met 
with  so  frequently  in  art  as  those  of  the  oppo- 
site virtues,  but  in  Spenser  we  find  them  all. 
His  Luxury  rides  upon  a  goat: 

"  In  a  greene  gowne  he  clothed  was  full  faire, 
Which  underneath  did  hide  his  filthinesse, 
And  in  his  hand  a  burning  heart  he  bare." 

But,  in  fact,  the  proper  and  comprehensive 
expression  of  this  vice  is  the  Cupid  of  the  an- 
cients; and  there  is  not  any  minor  circumstance 
more  indicative  of  the  intense  difference  between 
the  mediaeval  and  the  Renaissance  spirit,  than 
the  mode  in  which  this  god  is  represented. 

I  have  above  said,  that  all  great  European  art 
is  rooted  in  the  thirteenth  century;  and  it 


THE   DUCAL   PALACE.  269 

seems  to  me  that  there  is  a  kind  of  central  year 
about  which  we  may  consider  the  energy  of  the 
middle  ages  to  be  gathered;  a  kind  of  focus  of 
time  which,  by  what  is  to  my  mind  a  most 
touching  and  impressive  Divine  appointment, 
has  been  marked  for  us  by  the  greatest  writer  of 
the  middle  ages,  in  the  first  words  he  utters^ 
namely,  the  year  1300,  the  "  mezzo  del  cammin  " 
of  the  life  of  Dante.  Now,  therefore,  to  Giotto, 
the  contemporary  of  Dante,  and  who  drew 
Dante's  still  existing  portrait  in  this  very  year,. 
1300,  we  may  always  look  for  the  central  medi- 
aeval idea  in  any  subject:  and  observe  how  he 
represents  Cupid;  as  one  of  three,  a  terrible 
trinity,  his  companions  being  Satan  and  Death; 
and  he  himself  "  a  lean  scarecrow,  with  bow, 
quiver,  and  fillet,  and  feet  ending  in  claws,"* 
thrust  down  into  Hell  by  Penance,  from  the 
presence  of  Purity  and  Fortitude.  Spenser, 
who  has  been  so  often  noticed  as  furnishing  the 
exactly  intermediate  type  of  conception  between 
the  mediaeval  and  the  Renaissance,  indeed  rep- 
resents Cupid  under  the  form  of  a  beautiful 
winged  god,  and  riding  on  a  lion,  but  still  no 
plaything  of  the  Graces,  but  full  of  terror: 
"  With  that  the  darts  which  his  right  hand  did  straine 
Full  dreadfully  he  shooke,  that  all  did  quake, 
And  clapt  on  hye  his  coloured  winges  twaine, 
That  all  his  many  it  afraide  did  make." 

*  Lord  Lindsay,  vol.  ii.  letter  iv. 


2/O  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

His  many,  that  is  to  say,  his  company;  and  ob- 
serve what  a  company  it  is.  Before  him  go 
Fancy,  Desire,  Doubt,  Danger,  Fear,  Fallacious 
Hope,  Dissemblance,  Suspicion,  Grief,  Fury, 
Displeasure,  Despite,  and  Cruelty.  After  him, 
Reproach,  Repentance,  Shame, 

"  Unquiet  Care,  and  fond  Unthriftyhead, 
Lewd  Losse  of  Time,  and  Sorrow  seeming  dead, 
Inconstant  Chaunge,  and  false  Disloyalty, 
Consuming  Riotise,  and  guilty  Dread 
Of  heavenly  vengeaunce;  faint  Infirmity, 
Vile  Poverty,  and  lastly  Death  with  infamy. " 

Compare  these  two  pictures  of  Cupid  with  the 
Love-god  of  the  Renaissance,  as  he  is  repre- 
sented to  this  day,  confused  with  angels,  in 
every  faded  form  of  ornament  and  allegory,  in 
our  furniture,  our  literature,  and  our  minds. 

§  LXVI.  Second  side.  Gluttony.  A  woman  in 
a  turban,  with  a  jewelled  cup  in  her  right  hand. 
In  her  left,  the  clawed  limb  of  a  bird,  which  she 
is  gnawing.  Inscribed  "  GULA  SINE  ORDINE 
SUM." 

Spenser's  Gluttony  is  more  than  usually  fine: 
"His  belly  was  upblowne  with  luxury, 
And  eke  with  fatnesse  swollen  were  his  eyne, 
And  like  a  crane  his  necke  was  long  and  fyne, 
Wherewith  he  swallowed  up  excessive  feast, 
For  want  whereof  poore  people  oft  did  pyne." 

He  rides  upon  a  swine,  and  is  clad  in  vine- 
leaves,  with  a  garland  of  ivy.  Compare  the  ac- 


THE   DUCAL   PALACE.  2/1 

count  of  Excesse,  above,  as  opposed  to  Tem- 
perance. 

§  LXVII.  Third  side.  Pride.  A  knight,  with 
a  heavy  and  stupid  face,  holding  a  sword  with 
three  edges:  his  armor  covered  with  ornaments 
in  the  form  of  roses,  and  with  two  ears  attached 
to  his  helmet.  The  inscription  indecipherable, 
all  but  "  SUPERBIA." 

Spenser  has  analyzed  this  vice  with  great 
care.  He  first  represents  it  as  the  Pride  of  life; 
that  is  to  say,  the  pride  which  runs  in  a  deep 
under-current  through  all  the  thoughts  and  acts 
of  men.  As  such,  it  is  a  feminine  vice,  directly 
opposed  to  Holiness,  and  mistress  of  a  castle 
called  the  House  of  Pryde,  and  her  chariot  is 
driven  by  Satan,  with  a  team  of  beasts,  ridden 
by  the  mortal  sins.  In  the  throne  chamber  of 
her  palace  she  is  thus  described: 

"  So  proud  she  shyned  in  her  princely  state, 

Looking  to  Heaven,  for  Earth  she  did  disdayne; 
And  sitting  high,  for  lowly  she  did  hate: 
Lo,  underneath  her  scornefull  feete  was  layne 
A  dreadfull  dragon  with  an  hideous  trayne; 
And  in  her  hand  she  held  a  mirrhour  bright, 
Wherein  her  face  she  often  vewed  fayne." 

The  giant  Orgoglio  is  a  baser  species  of  pride, 
born  of  the  Earth  and  Eolus;  that  is  to  say,  of 
sensual  and  vain  conceits.  His  foster-father 


272  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

and  the  keeper  of  his  castle  is  Ignorance. 
(Book  I.  canto  vin.) 

Finally,  Disdain  is  introduced,  in  other  places, 
as  the  form  of  pride  which  vents  itself  in  insult 
to  others. 

§  LXVIII.  Fourth  side.  Anger.  A  woman  tear- 
ing her  dress  open  at  her  breast.  Inscription 
here  undecipherable;  but  in  the  Renaissance 

Copy  it  is  "  IRA  CRUDELIS  EST  IN  ME." 

Giotto  represents  this  vice  under  the  same 
symbol;  but  it  is  the  weakest  of  all  the  figures 
in  the  Arena  Chapel.  The  "  Wrath"  of  Spenser 
rides  upon  a  lion,  brandishing  a  firebrand,  his 
garments  stained  with  blood.  Rage,  or  Furor, 
occurs  subordinately  in  other  places.  It  ap- 
pears to  me  very  strange  that  neither  Giotto  nor 
Spenser  should  have  given  any  representation 
of  the  restrained  Anger,  which  is  infinitely  the 
most  terrible;  both  of  them  make  him  violent. 

§  LXIX.  Fifth  side.  Avarice.  An  old  woman 
with  a  veil  over  her  forehead,  and  a  bag  of 
money  in  each  hand.  A  figure  very  marvellous 
for  power  of  expression.  The  throat  is  all  made 
up  of  sinews  with  skinny  channels  deep  between 
them,  strained  as  by  anxiety,  and  wasted  by  fam- 
ine; the  features  hunger-bitten,  the  eyes  hollow, 
the  look  glaring  and  intense,  yet  without  the 
slightest  caricature.  Inscribed  in  the  Renais- 
sance COpy,  "  AVARITIA  IMPLETOR." 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  273 

Spenser's  Avarice  (the  vice)  is  much  feebler 
than  this;  but  the  god  Mammon  and  his  king 
dom  have  been  described  by  him  with  his  usual 
power.      Note   the   position   of   the    house   of 
Richesse: 

"  Betwixt  them  both  was  but  a  little  stride, 

That  did  the  House  of  Richesse  from  Hell-mouth  divide." 

It  is  curious  that  most  moralists  confuse  avar- 
ice with  covetousness,  although  they  are  vices 
totally  different  in  their  operation  on  the  human 
heart,  and  on  the  frame  of  society.  The  love 
of  money,  the  sin  of  Judas  and  Ananias,  is  in- 
deed the  root  of  all  evil  in  the  hardening  of  the 
heart;  but  "  covetousness,  which  is  idolatry," 
the  sin  of  Ahab,  that  is,  the  inordinate  desire  of 
some  seen  or  recognized  good, — thus  destroying 
peace  of  mind, — is  probably  productive  of  much 
more  misery  in  heart,  and  error  in  conduct,  than 
avarice  itself,  only  covetousness  is  not  so  incon- 
sistent with  Christianity:  for  covetousness  may 
partly  proceed  from  vividness  of  the  affections 
and  hopes,  as  in  David,  and  be  consistent  with 
much  charity;  not  so  avarice. 

§  LXX.  Sixth  side.  Idleness.  Accidia.  A  figure 
much  broken  away,  having  had  its  arms  round 
two  branches  of  trees. 

I  do  not  know  why  Idleness  should  be  repre- 
sented as  among  trees,  unless,  in  the  Italy  of 


2/4  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

the  fourteenth  century,  forest  country  was  con- 
sidered as  desert,  and  therefore  the  domain  of 
Idleness.  Spenser  fastens  this  vice  especially 
upon  the  clergy, — 

"  Upon  a  slouthfull  asse  he  chose  to  ryde, 
Arayd  in  habit  blacke,  and  amis  thin, 
Like  to  an  holy  monck,  the  service  to  begin. 
And  in  his  hand  his  portesse  still  he  bare, 
That  much  was  worne,  but  therein  little  redd." 

And  he  properly  makes  him  the  leader  of  the 
train  of  the  vices: 

"  May  seem  the  wayne  was  very  evil  ledd, 
When  such  an  one  had  guiding  of  the  way." 

Observe  that  subtle  touch  of  truth  in  the  "  wear- 
ing" of  the  portesse,  indicating  the  abuse  of 
books  by  idle  readers,  so  thoroughly  character- 
istic of  unwilling  studentship  from  the  school- 
boy upwards. 

§  LXXI.  Seventh  side.  Vanity.  She  is  smiling 
complacently  as  she  looks  into  a  mirror  in  her 
lap.  Her  robe  is  embroidered  with  roses,  and 
roses  form  her  crown.  Undecipherable. 

There  is  some  confusion  in  the  expression  of 
this  vice,  between  pride  in  the  personal  appear- 
ance and  lightness  of  purpose.  The  word  Vani- 
tas  generally,  I  think,  bears,  in  the  mediaeval 
period,  the  sense  given  it  in  Scripture.  "  Let  not 
him  that  is  deceived  trust  in  Vanity,  for  Vanity 
shall  be  his  recompense."  "  Vanity  of  Vanities." 


THE   DUCAL   PALACE. 


*'  The  Lord  knoweth  the  thoughts  of  the  wise, 
that  they  are  vain."  It  is  difficult  to  find  this 
sin,  —  which,  after  Pride,  is  the  most  universal, 
perhaps  the  most  fatal,  of  all,  fretting  the  whole 
depth  of  our  humanity  into  storm  "  to  waft  a 
feather  or  to  drown  a  fly,"  —  definitely  expressed 
in  art.  Even  Spenser,  I  think,  has  only  partially 
expressed  it  under  the  figure  of  Phaedria,  more 
properly  Idle  Mirth,  in  the  second  book.  The 
idea  is,  however,  entirely  worked  out  in  the 
Vanity  Fair  of  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress." 

§  LXXII.  Eighth  side.  Envy.  One  of  the 
noblest  pieces  of  expression  in  the  series.  She 
is  pointing  malignantly  with  her  finger;  a  ser- 
pent is  wreathed  about  her  head  like  a  cap,  an- 
other forms  the  girdle  of  her  waist,  and  a  dragon 
rests  in  her  lap. 

Giotto  has,  however,  represented  her,  with 
still  greater  subtlety,  as  having  her  fingers  ter- 
minating in  claws,  and  raising  her  right  hand 
with  an  expression  partly  of  impotent  regret, 
partly  of  involuntary  grasping;  a  serpent,  issu- 
ing from  her  mouth,  is  about  to  bite  her  between 
the  eyes;  she  has  long  membranous  ears,  horns 
on  [her  head,  and  flames  consuming  her  body. 
The  Envy  of  Spenser  is  only  inferior  to  that  of 
Giotto,  because  the  idea  of  folly  and  quickness 
of  hearing  is  not  suggested  by  the  size  of  the 
ear:  in  other  respects  it  is  even  finer,  joining  the 


2/6  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

idea  of  fury,  in  the  wolf  on  which  he  rides,  with 
that  of  corruption  on  his  lips,  and  of  discolora- 
tion or  distortion  in  the  whole  mind: 

"  Malicious  Envy  rode 
Upon  a  ravenous  wolfe,  and  still  did  chaw 
Between  his  cankred  teeth  a  venemous  tode 
That  all  the  poison  ran  about  his  jaw. 
And  in  a  kirtle  of  discolour d  say 
He  clothed  was,  ypaynted  full  of  eies, 
And  in  his  bosome  secretly  there  lay 
An  hatefull  snake,  the  which  his  taile  uptyes 
In  many  folds,  and  mortall  sting  implyes." 

He  has  developed  the  idea  in  more  detail, 
and  still  more  loathsomely,  in  the  twelfth  canto 
of  the  fifth  book. 

§  LXXIII.  ELEVENTH  CAPITAL.  Its  decoration 
is  composed  of  eight  birds,  arranged  as  shown 
in  Plate  V.  of  the  "  Seven  Lamps,"  which,  how- 
ever, was  sketched  from  the  Renaissance  copy. 
These  birds  are  all  varied  in  form  and  action, 
but  not  so  as  to  require  special  description. 

§  LXXIV.  TWELFTH  CAPITAL.  This  has  been 
very  interesting,  but  is  grievously  defaced,  four 
of  its  figures  being  entirely  broken  away,  and 
the  character  of  two  others  quite  undecipherable. 
It  is  fortunate  that  it  has  been  copied  in  the 
thirty-third  capital  of  the  Renaissance  series, 
from  which  we  are  able  to  identify  the  lost 
figures. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE. 


first  side.  Misery.  A  man  with  a  wan  face, 
seemingly  pleading  with  a  child  who  has  its 
hands  crossed  on  its  breast.  There  is  a  buckle 
at  his  own  breast  in  the  shape  of  a  cloven  heart. 
Inscribed  "  MISERIA." 

The  intention  of  this  figure  is  not  altogether 
apparent,  as  it  is  by  no  means  treated  as  a  vice; 
the  distress  seeming  real,  and  like  that  of  a 
parent  in  poverty  mourning  over  his  child.  Yet 
it  seems  placed  here  as  in  direct  opposition  to- 
the  virtue  of  Cheerfulness,  which  follows  next 
in  order;  rather,  however,  I  believe,  with  the 
intention  of  illustrating  human  life,  than  the 
character  of  the  vice  which,  as  we  have  seen, 
Dante  placed  in  the  circle  of  hell.  The  word 
in  that  case  would,  I  think,  have  been  "Tris- 
titia,"  the  "  unholy  Griefe"  of  Spenser  — 

'  '  All  in  sable  sorrowfully  clad, 
Downe  hanging  his  dull  head  with  heavy  chere  : 

A  pair  of  pincers  in  his  hand  he  had  , 

With  which  he  pinched  people  to  the  heart." 

He  has  farther  amplified  the  idea  under  an^ 
other  figure  in  the  fifth  canto  of  the  fourth  book:. 

"His  name  was  Care;  a  blacksmith  by  his  trade, 
That  neither  day  nor  night  from  working  spared;, 
But  to  small  purpose  yron  wedges  made: 
Those  be  unquiet  thoughts  that  carefull  minds  invade- 


2/8  THE   STONES   OF    VENICE, 

Rude  was  his  garment,  and  to  rags  all  rent, 

Ne  better  had  he,  ne  for  better  cared; 

With  blistered  hands  among  the  cinders  brent." 

It  is  to  be  noticed,  however,  that  in  the 
Renaissance  copy  this  figure  is  stated  to  be,  not 
Miseria,  but  "  Misericordia."  The  contraction 
is  a  very  moderate  one,  Misericordia  being  in 
old  MS.  written  always  as  "  Mia."  If  this  read- 
ing be  right,  the  figure  is  placed  here  rather  as 
the  companion,  than  the  opposite,  of  Cheerful- 
ness; unless,  indeed,  it  is  intended  to  unite  the 
idea  of  Mercy  and  Compassion  with  that  of 
Sacred  Sorrow. 

§  LXXV.  Second  side.  Cheerfulness.  A  wo- 
man with  long  flowing  hair,  crowned  with  roses, 
playing  on  a  tambourine,  and  with  open  lips,  as 
singing.  Inscribed  "  ALACRITAS." 

We  have  already  met  with  this  virtue  among 
those  especially  set  by  Spenser  to  attend  on 
Womanhood.  It  is  inscribed  in  the  Renaissance 

Copy,  "  ALACHRITAS  CHANIT   MECUM."       Note  the 

gutturals  of  the  rich  and  fully  developed  Vene- 
tian dialect  now  affecting  the  Latin,  which  is 
free  from  them  in  the  earlier  capitals. 

§  LXXVI.  Third  side.  Destroyed;  but,  from 
the  copy,  we  find  it  has  been  Stultitia,  Folly; 
and  it  is  there  represented  simply  as  a  man  rid- 
ing, a  sculpture  worth  the  consideration  of  the 
English  residents  Avho  bring  their  horses  to 


THE   DUCAL   PALACE.  2/9 

Venice.  Giotto  gives  Stultitia  a  feather,  cap, 
and  club.  In  early  manuscripts  he  is  always 
eating  with  one  hand,  and  striking  with  the 
other;  in  later  ones  he  has  a  cap  and  bells,  or 
cap  crested  with  a  cock's  head,  whence  the  word 
"  coxcomb." 

§  LXXVII.  Fourth  side.  Destroyed,  all  but  a 
book,  which  identifies  it  with  the  "  Celestial 
Chastity  "  of  the  Renaissance  copy;  there  repre- 
sented as  a  woman  pointing  to  a  book  (connect- 
ing the  convent  life  with  the  pursuit  of  literature?). 

Spenser's  Chastity,  Britomart,  is  the  most  ex- 
quisitely wrought  of  all  his  characters;  but,  as 
before  noticed,  she  is  not  the  Chastity  of  the 
convent,  but  of  wedded  life. 

§  LXXVIII.  Fifth  side.  Only  a  scroll  is  left; 
but,  from  the  copy,  we  find  it  has  been  Honesty 
or  Truth.  Inscribed  "  HONESTATEM  DILIGO." 
It  is  very  curious,  that  among  all  the  Christian 
systems  of  the  virtues  which  we  have  examined, 
we  should  find  this  one  in  Venice  only. 

The  Truth  of  Spenser,  Una,  is,  after  Chastity, 
the  most  exquisite  character  in  the  "  Faerie 
Queen." 

§  LXXIX.  Sixth  side.  Falsehood.  An  old 
woman  leaning  on  a  crutch;  and  inscribed  in 
the  copy,  "  FALSITAS  IN  ME  SEMPER  EST."  The 
Fidessa  of  Spenser,  the  great  enemy  of  Una,  or 
Truth,  is  far  more  subtly  conceived,  probably 


280  THE    STONES   OF    VENICE, 

not  without  special  reference  to  the  Papal  de- 
ceits. In  her  true  form  she  is  a  loathsome  hag, 
but  in  her  outward  aspect, 

"'  A  goodly  lady,  clad  in  scarlot  red, 
Purfled  with  gold  and  pearle;  .  .  . 
Her  wanton  palfrey  all  was  overspred. 
With  tinsell  trappings,  woven  like  a  wave, 
Whose  bridle  rung  with  golden  bels  and  bosses  brave." 

Dante's  Fraud,  Geryon,  is  the  finest  personifi- 
cation of  all,  but  the  description  (Inferno,  canto 
xvu.)  is  too  long  to  be  quoted. 

§  LXXX.  Seventh  side.  Injustice.  An  armed 
figure  holding  a  halbert;  so  also  in  the  copy. 
The  figure  used  by  Giotto  with  the  particular 
intention  of  representing  unjust  government,  is 
represented  at  the  gate  of  an  embattled  castle 
in  a  forest,  between  rocks,  while  various  deeds 
of  violence  are  committed  at  his  feet.  Spenser's 
"  Adicia  "  is  a  furious  hag,  at  last  transformed 
into  a  tiger. 

Eighth  side.  A  man  with  a  dagger  looking 
sorrowfully  at  a  child,  who  turns  its  back  to  him. 
I  cannot  understand  this  figure.  It  is  inscribed 
an  the  copy, "  ASTINECIA  (Abstinentia?)  OPITIMA?" 

§  LXXXI.  THIRTEENTH  CAPITAL.  It  has 
lions'  heads  all  round,  coarsely  cut. 

FOURTEENTH  CAPITAL.  It  has  various  ani- 
mals, each  sitting  on  its  haunches.  Three  dogs, 
one  a  greyhound,  one  long-haired,  one  short- 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  28l 

haired  with  bells  about  its  neck;  two  monkeys, 
one  with  fan-shaped  hair  projecting  on  each  side 
of  its  face;  a  noble  boar,  with  its  tusks,  hoofs, 
and  bristles  sharply  cut;  and  a  lion  and  lioness. 

§  LXXXII.  FIFTEENTH  CAPITAL.  The  pillar 
to  which  it  belongs  is  thicker  than  the  rest,  as 
well  as  the  one  over  it  in  the  upper  arcade. 

The  sculpture  of  this  capital  is  also  much 
coarser,  and  seems  to  me  later  than  that  of  the 
rest;  and  it  has  no  inscription,  which  is  embar- 
rassing, as  its  subjects  have  had  much  meaning; 
but  I  believe  Selvatico  is  right  in  supposing  it 
to  have  been  intended  for  a  general  illustration 
of  Idleness. 

First  side.  A  woman  with  a  distaff ;  her  girdle 
richly  decorated,  and  fastened  by  a  buckle. 

Second  side.  A  youth  in  a  long  mantle,  with 
a  rose  in  his  hand. 

Third  side.  A  woman  in  a  turban  stroking  a 
puppy,  which  she  holds  by  the  haunches. 

Fourth  side.     A  man  with  a  parrot. 

Fifth  side.  A  woman  in  very  rich  costume, 
with  braided  hair,  and  dress  thrown  into  minute 
folds,  holding  a  rosary  (?)  in  her  left  hand,  her 
right  on  her  breast. 

Sixth  side.  A  man  with  a  very  thoughtful 
face,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  leaves  of  the 
capital. 


282  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

Seventh  si^e.  A  crowned  lady,  witli  a  rose  in 
her  hand. 

Eighth  side.  A  boy  with  a  ball  in  his  left  hand, 
and  his  right  laid  on  his  breast. 

§  LXXXIII.  SIXTEENTH  CAPITAL.  It  is  deco- 
rated with  eight  large  heads,  partly  intended  to 
be  grotesque,*  and  very  coarse  and  bad,  except 
only  that  in  the  sixth  side,  which  is  totally  differ- 
ent from  all  the  rest,  and  looks  like  a  portrait. 
It  is  thin,  thoughtful,  and  dignified;  thoroughly 
fine  in  every  way.  It  wears  a  cap  surmounted 
by  two  winged  lions;  and,  therefore,  I  think 
Selvatico  must  have  inaccurately  written  the  list 
given  in  the  note,  for  this  head  is  certainly  meant 
to  express  the  superiority  of  the  Venetian  char- 
acter over  that  of  other  nations.  Nothing  is 
more  remarkable  in  all  early  sculpture,  than  its 
appreciation  of  the  signs  of  dignity  of  character 
in  the  features,  and  the  way  in  which  it  can  ex- 
alt the  principal  figure  in  any  subject  by  a  few 
touches. 

§  LXXXIV.  SEVENTEENTH  CAPITAL.  This  has 
been  so  destroyed  by  the  sea  wind,  which  sweeps 
at  this  point  of  the  arcade  round  the  angle  of 

*  Selvatico  states  that  these  are  intended  to  be  repre- 
sentative of  eight  nations,  Latins,  Tartars,  Turks,  Hun- 
garians, Greeks,  Goths,  Egyptians,  and  Persians.  Either 
the  inscriptions  are  now  defaced  or  I  have  carelessly 
omitted  to  note  them. 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  2-83 

the  palace,  that  its  inscriptions  are  no  longer 
legible,  and  great  part  of  its  figures  are  gone. 
Selvatico  states  them  as"  follows:  Solomon,  the 
wise;  Priscian,  the  grammarian;  Aristotle,  the 
logician;  Tully,  the  orator;  Pythagoras,  the 
philosopher;  Archimedes,  the  mechanic;  Or- 
pheus, the  musician;  Ptolemy,  the  astronomer. 
The  fragments  actually  remaining  are  the  fol- 
lowing: 

First  side.  A  figure  with  two  books,  in  a  robe 
richly  decorated  with  circles  of  roses.  Inscribed 

"  SALOMON  (SAP)  TENS." 

Second  side.  A  man  with  one  book,  poring 
over  it:  he  has  had  a  long  stick  or  reed  in  his 
hand.  Of  inscription  only  the  letters  "  GRAM- 
MATIC  "  remain. 

Third  side.  "  ARISTOTLE:"  so  inscribed.  He 
has  a  peaked  double  beard  and  a  flat  cap,  from 
under  which  his  long  hair  falls  down  his  back. 

Fourth  side.     Destroyed. 

Fifth  side.  Destroyed,  all  but  a  board  with 
three  (counters?)  on  it. 

Sixth  side.  A  figure  with  compasses.  In- 
scribed "  GEOMET  *  *  " 

Seventh  side.  Nothing  is  left  but  a  guitar  with 
its  handle  wrought  into  a  lion's  head. 

Eighth  side.     Destroyed. 

§  LXXXV.  We  have  now  arrived  at  the  EIGHT- 
EENTH CAPITAL,  the  most  interesting  and 


284 


THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 


beautiful  of  the  palace.  It  represents  the 
planets,  and  the  sun  and  moon,  in  those  divis- 
ions of  the  zodiac  known  to  astrologers  as  their 
"  houses;"  and  perhaps  indicates,  by  the  posi- 
tion in  which  they  are  placed,  the  period  of  the 
year  at  which  this  great  corner-stone  was  laid. 
The  inscriptions  above  have  been  in  quaint 
Latin  rhyme,  but  are  now  decipherable  only  in 
fragments,  and  that  with  the  more  difficulty  be- 
cause the  rusty  iron  bar  that  binds  the  abacus 
has  broken  away,  in  its  expansion,  nearly  all  the 
upper  portions  of  the  stone,  and  with  them  the 
signs  of  contraction,  which  are  of  great  impor- 
tance. I  shall  give  the  fragments  of  them  that[I 
could  decipher;  first  as  the  letters  actually  stand 
(putting  those  of  which  I  am  doubtful  in 
brackets,  with  a  note  of  interrogation),  and  then 
as  I  would  read  them. 

§  LXXXVI.  It  should  be  premised  that,  in 
modern  astrology,  the  houses  of  the  planets  are 
thus  arranged: 


The  house  of  the  Sun, 

Moon, 

'  of  Mars, 

Venus, 
Mercury 

'  Jupiter, 

Saturn, 


is  Leo. 

"  Cancer. 

"  Aries  and  Scorpio. 

"  Taurus  and  Libra. 

"  Gemini  and  Virgo. 

"  Sagittarius  and  Pisces. 

"  Capricorn. 


Herschel,  "  Aquarius. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  285 

The  Herschel  planet  being  of  course  unknown 
to  the  old  astrologers,  we  have  only  the  other 
six  planetary  powers,  together  with  the  sun;  and 
Aquarius  is  assigned  to  Saturn  as  his  house.  I 
could  not  find  Capricorn  at  all;  but  this  sign 
may  have  been  broken  away,  as  the  whole  capi- 
tal is  grievously  defaced.  The  eighth  side  of 
the  capital,  which  the  Herschel  planet  would 
now  have  occupied,  bears  a  sculpture  of  the 
Creation  of  Man:  it  is  the  most  conspicuous 
side,  the  one  set  diagonally  across  the  angle;  or 
the  eighth  in  our  usual  mode  of  reading  the  capi- 
tals, from  which  I  shall  not  depart. 

§  LXXXVII.  The  first  side,  then,  or  that  towards 
the  Sea,  has  Aquarius,  as  the  house  of  Saturn, 
represented  as  a  seated  figure  beautifully  draped, 
pouring  a  stream  of  water  out  of  an  amphora 
over  the  leaves  of  the  capital.  His  inscription 
is: 

"ET    SATURNE    DOMUS  (ECLOCE^UNT?)   Is  yBRE." 

§  LXXXVIII.  Second  side.  Jupiter,  in  his  houses 
Sagittarius  and  Pisces,  represented  throned, 
with  an  upper  dress  disposed  in  radiating  folds 
about  his  neck,  and  hanging  down  upon  his 
breast,  ornamented  by  small  pendent  trefoiled 
studs  or  bosses.  He  wears  the  drooping  bonnet 
and  long  gloves;  but  the  folds  about  the  neck, 
shot  forth  to  express  the  rays  of  the  star,  are  the 


286  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

most  remarkable  characteristic  of  the  figure. 
He  raises  his  sceptre  in  his  left  hand  over  Sagit- 
tarius, represented  as  the  centaur  Chiron;  and 
holds  two  thunnies  in  his  right.  Something 
rough,  like  a  third  fish,  has  been  broken  away 
below  them;  the  more  easily  because  this  part 
of  the  group  is  entirely  undercut,  and  the  two 
fish  glitter  in  the  light,  relieved  on  the  deep 
gloom  below  the  leaves.  The  inscription  is: 

"  INDE  JOVl'*  DONA  PISES  SIMUL  ATQ8  CIRONA." 

Or, 

' '  Inde  Jovis  dona 
Pisces  simulatque  Chirona." 

Domus  is,  I  suppose,  to  be  understood  before 
Jovis:  "  Then  the  house  of  Jupiter  gives  (or 
governs?)  the  fishes  and  Chiron." 

§  LXXXIX.  Third  side.  Mars,  in  his  houses 
Aries  and  Scorpio.  Represented  as  a  very  ugly 
knight  in  chain  mail,  seated  sideways  on  the 
ram,  whose  horns  are  broken  away,  and  having 
a  large  scorpion  in  his  left  hand,  whose  tail  is 
broken  also,  to  the  infinite  injury  of  the  group, 
for  it  seems  to  have  curled  across  to  the  angle 
leaf,  and  formed  a  bright  line  of  light,  like  the 

*  The  comma  in  these  inscriptions  stands  for  a  small 
cuneiform  mark,  I  believe  of  contraction,  and  the  small 
•  for  a  zigzag  mark  of  the  same  Icind.  The  dots  or  periods 
are  similarly  marked  on  the  stone. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  287 

fish  in  the  hand  of  Jupiter.  The  knight  carries 
a  shield,  on  which  fire  and  water  are  sculptured, 
and  bears  a  banner  upon  his  lance,  with  the 
word  "  DEFEROSUM,"  which  puzzled  me  for  some 
time.  It  should  be  read,  I  believe,  "  De  ferro 
sum;"  which  would  be  good  Venetian  Latin  for 
"  I  am  of  iron." 

§  xc.  Fourth  side.  The  Sun,  in  his  house 
Leo.  Represented  under  the  figure  of  Apollo, 
sitting  on  the  Lion,  with  rays  shooting  from  his 
head,  and  the  world  in  his  hand.  The  inscrip- 
tion: 

"  TU  ES  DOMU'  SOLIS  (QUO*  ?)  SIGNE  LEONI." 

I  believe  the  first  phrase  is,  "  Tune  est  Do- 
mus  solis;"  but  there  is  a  letter  gone  after  the 
"  quo,"  and  I  have  no  idea  what  case  of  signum 
"  signe"  stands  for. 

§  xci.  Fifth  side.  Venus,  in  her  houses  Taurus 
and  Libra.  The  most  beautiful  figure  of  the 
series.  She  sits  upon  the  bull,  who  is  deep  in 
the  dewlap,  and  better  cut  than  most  of  the 
animals,  holding  a  mirror  in  her  right  hand,  and 
the  scales  in  her  left.  Her  breast  is  very  nobly 
and  tenderly  indicated  under  the  folds  of  her 
drapery,  which  is  exquisitely  studied  in  its  fall. 
What  is  left  of  the  inscription,  runs: 

"  LIBRA  CUM  TAURO  DOMUS  *  *  *  PURIOR  AUR*." 

§  xcn.  Sixth  side.     Mercury,   represented  as 


288  THE   STONES   OF    VENICE. 

wearing  a  pendent  cap,  and  nolding  a  book:'  he 
is  supported  by  three  children  in  reclining  atti- 
tudes, representing  his  houses  Gemini  and  Virgo. 
But  I  cannot  understand  the  inscription,  though 
more  than  usually  legible. 

"  OCCUPAT  ERIGONE  STIBONS  GEMINUQ'  LACONE. " 

§  xcni.  Seventh  side.  The  Moon,  in  her 
house  Cancer.  This  sculpture,  which  is  turned 
towards  the  Piazzetta,  is  the  most  picturesque 
of  the  series.  The  moon  is  represented  as  a 
woman  in  a  boat,  upon  the  sea,  who  raises  the 
crescent  in  her  right  hand,  and  with  her  left 
draws  a  crab  out  of  the  waves,  up  the  boat's 
side.  The  moon  was,  I  believe,  represented  in 
Egyptian  sculptures  as  in  a  boat;  but  I  rather 
think  the  Venetian  was  not  aware  of  this,  and 
that  he  meant  to  express  the  peculiar  sweetness 
of  the  moonlight  at  Venice,  as  seen  across  the 
lagoons.  Whether  this  was  intended  by  putting 
the  planet  in  the  boat,  may  be  questionable, 
but  assuredly  the  idea  was  meant  to  be  conveyed 
by  the  dress  of  the  figure.  For  all  the  draperies 
of  the  other  figures  on  this  capital,  as  well  as  on 
the  rest  of  the  facade,  are  disposed  in  severe 
but  full  folds,  showing  little  of  the  forms  be- 
neath them;  but  the  moon's  drapery  ripples 
down  to  her  feet,  so  as  exactly  to  suggest  the 
trembling  of  the  moonlight  on  the  waves.  This 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  289 

beautiful  idea  is  highly  characteristic  of  the 
thoughtfulness  of  the  early  sculptors:  five  hun- 
dred men  may  be  now  found  who  could  have 
cut  the  drapery,  as  such,  far  better,  for  one  who 
would  have  disposed  its  folds  with  this  intention. 
The  inscription  is: 

"LUNE  CANCER  DOMU  T.  PBET  IORBE  SIGNORU." 

§  xciv.  Eighth  side.  God  creating  Man. 
Represented  as  a  throned  figure,  with  a  glory 
round  the  head,  laying  his  left  hand  on  the  head 
of  a  naked  youth,  and  sustaining  him  with  his 
right  hand.  The  inscription  puzzled  me  for  a 
long  time;  but  except  the  lost  r  and  m  of  "  for- 
mavit,"  and  a  letter  quite  undefaced,  but  to  me 
unintelligble,  before  the  word  Eva,  in  the  shape 
of  a  figure  of  7,  I  have  safely  ascertained  the 
rest. 

"DELIMO  DSADA  DECO  STAFO  *  *  AvixyEVA." 
Or 

"  De  limo  Dominus  Adam,  de  costa  fo(rm)  avit  Evam;" 
From  the  dust  the  Lord  made  Adam,  and  from  the  rib  Eve. 

I  imagine  the  whole  of  this  capital,  therefore — 
the  principal  one  of  the  old  palace, — to  have 
been  intended  to  signify,  first,  the  formation  of 
the  planets  for  the  service  of  man  upon  the 
earth;  secondly,  the  entire  subjection  of  the 
fates  and  fortune  of  man  to  the  will  of  God,  as 


290  THE    STONES  OF    VENICE. 

determined  from  the  time  when  the  earth  and 
stars  were  made,  and,  in  fact,  written  in  the  vol- 
ume of  the  stars  themselves. 

Thus  interpreted,  the  doctrines  of  judicial 
astrology  were  not  only  consistent  with,  but  an 
aid  to,  the  most  spiritual  and  humble  Christi- 
anity. 

In  the  workmanship  and  grouping  of  its  foli- 
age, this  capital  is,  on  the  whole,  the  finest  I 
know  in  Europe.  The  Sculptor  has  put.  his 
whole  strength  into  it.  I  trust  that  it  will  ap- 
pear among  the  other  Venetian  casts  lately 
taken  for  the  Crystal  Palace;  but  if  not,  I  have 
myself  cast  all  its  figures,  and  two  of  its  leaves, 
and  I  intend  to  give  drawings  of  them  on  a  large 
scale  in  my  folio  work. 

§  xcv.  NINETEENTH  CAPITAL.  This  is,  of 
course,  the  second  counting  from  the  Sea,  on 
the  Piazzetta  side  of  the  palace,  calling  that  of 
the  Fig-tree  angle  the  first. 

It  is  the  most  important  capital,  as  a  piece  of 
evidence  in  point  of  dates,  in  the  whole  palace. 
Great  pains  have  been  taken  with  it,  and  in 
some  portion  of  the  accompanying  furniture  or 
ornaments  of  each  of  its  figures  a  small  piece  of 
colored  marble  has  been  inlaid,  with  peculiar 
significance:  for  the  capital  represents  the  arts 
of  sculpture  and  architecture;  and  the  inlaying  of 
the  colored  stones  (which  are  far  too  small  to  be 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  29 1 

effective  at  a  distance,  and  are  found  in  this  one 
capital  only  of  the  whole  series)  is  merely  an  ex- 
pression of  the  architect's  feeling  of  the  essen- 
tial importance  of  this  art  of  inlaying,  and  of 
the  value  of  color  generally  in  his  own  art. 

§  xcvi.  First  side.  "ST.  SIMPLICIUS":  so  in- 
scribed. A  figure  working  with  a  pointed  chisel 
on  a  small  oblong  block  of  green  serpentine, 
about  four  inches  long  by  one  wide,  inlaid  in  the 
capital.  The  chisel  is,  of  course,  in  the  left 
hand,  but  the  right  is  held  up  open,  with  the 
palm  outwards. 

Second  side.  A  crowned  figure,  carving  the 
image  of  a  child  on  a  small  statue,  with  a 
ground  of  red  marble.  The  sculptured  figure  is 
highly  finished,  and  is  in  type  of  head  much 
like  the  Ham  or  Japheth  at  the  Vine  angle. 
Inscription  effaced. 

Third  side.  An  old  man,  uncrowned,  but  with 
curling  hair,  at  work  on  a  small  column,  with 
its  capital  complete,  and  a  little  shaft  of  dark 
red  marble,  spotted  with  paler  red.  The  capital 
is  precisely  of  the  form  of  that  found  in  the 
palace  of  the  Tiepolos  and  the  other  thirteenth 
century  work  of  Venice.  This  one  figure  would 
be  quite  enough,  without  any  other  evidence 
whatever,  to  determine  the  date  of  this  flank  of 
the  Ducal  Palace  as  not  later,  at  all  events,  than 


292  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

the  first  half  of  the  fourteenth  century.  Its  in- 
scription is  broken  away,  all  but  "  DISIPULO." 

Fourth  side.  A  crowned  figure;  but  the  object 
on  which  it  has  been  working  is  broken  away, 
and  all  the  inscription  except  "  ST.  E(N  ?)AS." 

Fifth  side.  A  man  with  a  turban,  and  a  sharp 
chisel,  at  work  on  a  kind  of  panel  or  niche,  the 
back  of  which  is  of  red  marble. 

Sixth  side.  A  crowned  figure,  with  hammer 
and  chisel,  employed  on  a  little  range  of  windows 
of  the  fifth  order,  having  roses  set,  instead  of 
orbicular  ornaments,  between  the  spandrils, 
with  a  rich  cornice,  and  a  band  of  marble  in- 
serted above.  This  sculpture  assures  us  of  the 
date  of  the  fifth  order  window,  which  it  shows 
to  have  been  universal  in  the  early  fourteenth 
century. 

There  are  also  five  arches  in  the  block  on 
which  the  sculptor  is  working,  marking  the  fre- 
quency of  the  number  five  in  the  window  groups 
of  the  time. 

Seventh  side.  A  figure  at  work  on  a  pilaster, 
with  Lombardic  thirteenth  century  capital  (for 
account  of  the  series  of  forms  in  Venetian  capi- 
tals, see  the  final  Appendix  of  the  next  volume), 
the  shaft  of  dark  red  spotted  marble. 

Eighth  side.  A  figure  with  a  rich  open  crown, 
working  on  a  delicate  recumbent  statue,  the 
head  of  which  is  laid  on  a  pillow  covered  with  a 


THE   DUCAL  PALACE.  2$$ 

rich  chequer  pattern;  the  whole  supported  on  a 
block  of  dark  red  marble.  Inscription  broken 
away,  all  but  "  ST.  SYM.  (Symmachus  ?)  TV  *  * 
ANVS."  There  appear,  therefore,  altogether  to 
have  been  five  saints,  two  of  them  popes,  if 
Simplicius  is  the  pope  of  that  name  (three  in 
front,  two  on  the  fourth  and  sixth  sides),  alter- 
nating with  the  three  uncrowned  workmen  in 
the  manual  labor  of  sculpture.  I  did  not, 
therefore,  insult  our  present  architects  in  say- 
ing above  that  they  "  ought  to  work  in  the  ma- 
son's yard  with  their  men."  It  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  find  a  more  interesting  expression  of  the 
devotional  spirit  in  which  all  great  work  was  un- 
dertaken at  this  time. 

§  xcvii.  TWENTIETH  CAPITAL.  It  is  adorned 
with  heads  of  animals,  and  is  the  finest  of  the 
whole  series  in  the  broad  massiveness  of  its 
effect;  so  simply  characteristic,  indeed,  of  the 
grandeur  of  style  in  the  entire  building,  that  I 
chose  it  for  the  first  Plate  in  my  folio  work.  In 
spite  of  the  sternness  of  its  plan,  however,  it  is 
wrought  with  great  care  in  surface  detail;  and 
the  ornamental  value  of  the  minute  chasing  ob- 
tained by  the  delicate  plumage  of  the  birds,  and 
the  clustered  bees  on  the  honeycomb  in  the  bear's 
mouth,  opposed  to  the  strong  simplicity  of  its 
general  form,  cannot  be  too  much  admired. 
There  are  also  more  grace,  life,  and  variety  in 


294  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

the  sprays  of  foliage  on  each  side  of  it,  and  un- 
der the  heads,  than  in  any  other  capital  of  the 
series,  though  the  earliness  of  the  workmanship 
ismarked  by  considerable  hardness  and  coldness 
in  the  larger  heads.  A  Northern  Gothic  work- 
man, better  acquainted  with  bears  and  wolves 
than  it  was  possible  to  become  in  St.  Mark's 
Place,  would  have  put  far  more  life  into  these 
heads,  but  he  could  not  have  composed  them 
more  skilfully. 

§  xcvin.  First  side.  A  lion  with  a  stag's 
haunch  in  his  mouth.  Those  readers  who  have 
the  folio  plate,  should  observe  the  peculiar  way 
in  which  the  ear  is  cut  into  the  shape  of  a  ring, 
jagged  or  furrowed  on  the  edge;  an  archaic 
mode  of  treatment  peculiar,  in  the  Ducal  Pal- 
ace, to  the  lion's  heads  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury. The  moment  we  reach  the  Renaissance 
work,  the  lion's  ears  are  smooth.  Inscribed 
simply,  "LEO." 

Second  side.  A  wolf  with  a  dead  bird  in  his 
mouth,  its  body  wonderfully  true  in  expression 
of  the  passiveness  of  death.  The  feathers  are 
each  wrought  with  a  central  quill  and  radiating 
filaments.  Inscribed  "  LUPUS." 

Third  side.  A  fox,  not  at  all  like  one,  with  a 
dead  cock  in  his  mouth,  its  comb  and  pendent 
neck  admirably  designed  so  as  to  fall  across  the 
great  angle  leaf  of  the  capital,  its  tail  hanging 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  2g$ 

down  on  the  other  side,  its  long  straight  feath- 
ers exquisitely  cut.  Inscribed  ("  VULP?)IS." 

Fourth  side.  Entirely  broken  away. 

Fifth  side.  "APER."  Well  tusked,  with  a 
head  of  maize  in  his  mouth;  at  least  I  suppose 
it  to  be  maize,  though  shaped  like  a  pine-cone. 

Sixth  side.  "CHANIS."  With  a  [bone,  very  ill 
cut;  and  a  bald-headed  species  of  dog,  with 
ugly  flap  ears. 

Seventh  side.  "  MUSCIPULUS."  With  a  rat  (?) 
in  his  mouth. 

Eighth  side.  "  URSUS."  With  a  honeycomb, 
covered  with  large  bees. 

§  xcix.  TWENTY-FIRST  CAPITAL.  Represents 
the  principal  inferior  professions. 

First  side.  An  old  man,  with  his  brow  deeply 
wrinkled,  and  very  expressive  features,  beating 
in  a  kind  of  mortar  with  a  hammer.  Inscribed 
"LAPICIDA  SUM." 

Second  side.  I  believe,  a  goldsmith;  he  is  strik- 
ing a  small  flat  bowl  or  patera,  on  a  pointed 
anvil,  with  a  light  hammer.  The  inscription  is 
gone. 

Third  side.  A  shoemaker  with  a  shoe  in  his 
hand,  and  an  instrument  for  cutting  leather  sus- 
pended beside  him.  Inscription  undeciphera- 
ble. 

Fourth    side.     Much    broken.     A    carpenter 


296  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

planing  a  beam  resting  on  two  horizontal  logs, 
Inscribed  "  CARPENTARIUS  SUM." 

Fifth  side.  A  figure  shovelling  fruit  into  a 
tub;  the  latter  very  carefully  carved  from  what 
appears  to  have  been  an  excellent  piece  of 
cooperage.  Two  thin  laths  cross  each  other 
over  the  top  of  it.  The  inscription,  now  lost, 
was,  according  to  Selvatico,  "  MENSURATOR"? 

Sixth  side.  A  man,  with  a  large  hoe,  break- 
ing the  ground,  which  lies  in  irregular  furrows 
and  clods  before  him.  Now  undecipherable,, 
but  according  to  Selvatico,  "AGRICHOLA." 

Seventh  side.  A  man,  in  a  pendent  cap,  writ- 
ing on  a  large  scroll  which  falls  over  his  knee. 
Inscribed  "  NOTARIUS  SUM." 

Eighth  side.  A  man  forging  a  sword,  or 
scythe-blade:  he  wears  a  large  skull-cap;  beats 
with  a  large  hammer  on  a  solid  anvil;  and  is  in- 
scribed "  FABER  SUM." 

§  c.  TWENTY-SECOND  CAPITAL.  The  Ages  of 
Man;  and  the  influence  of  the  planets  on  hu- 
man life. 

first  side.  The  moon,  governing  infancy  for 
four  years,  according  to  Selvatico.  I  have  na 
note  of  this  side,  having,  I  suppose,  been  pre- 
vented from  raising  the  ladder  against  it  by 
some  fruit-stall  or  other  impediment  in  the 
regular  course  of  my  examination;  and  then 
forgotten  to  return  to  it. 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  297 

Second  side.  A  child  with  a  tablet,  and  an  al- 
phabet inscribed  on  it.  The  legend  above  is 

"  MECUREU"  DNT.    PUERICIE  PAN.  X." 

Or,  "  Mercurius  dominatur  pueritiae  per  annos 
X."  (Selvatico  reads  VII.)  "  Mercury  governs 
boyhood  for  ten  (or  seven)  years." 

Third  side.  An  older  youth,  with  another 
tablet,  but  broken.  Inscribed 

"  ADOLOSCENCIE   *  *  *   P.  AN.  VII." 

Selvatico  misses  this  side  altogether,  as  I  did 
the  first,  so  that  the  lost  planet  is  irrecoverable, 
as  the  inscription  is  now  defaced.  Note  the  o 
for  e  in  adolescentia;  so  also  we  constantly  find 
u  for  o;  showing,  together  with  much  other  in- 
contestable evidence  of  the  same  kind,  how  full 
and  deep  the  old  pronunciation  of  Latin  always 
remained,  and  how  ridiculous  our  English  minc- 
ing of  the  vowels  would  have  sounded  to  a 
Roman  ear. 

Fourth  side.    A  youth  with  a  hawk  on  his  fist. 

"  IUVENTUTI  DNT.  SOL.  P.  AN.  XIX." 

The  sun  governs  youth  for  nineteen  years. 

Fifth  side.  A  man  sitting,  helmed,  with  a 
sword  over  his  shoulder.  Inscribed 

"  SENECTTTTI  DNT  MARS.  P.  AN.  XV." 
Mars  governs  manhood  for  fifteen  years. 


298  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

Sixth  side.  A  very  graceful  and  serene  figure, 
in  the  pendent  cap,  reading. 

"  SENIC1E  DNf  JUPITER,  P.  ANN.  XII." 

Jupiter  governs  age  for  twelve  years. 

Seventh  side.  An  old  man  in  a  skull-cap, 
praying. 

"DECREPITE    DNT   SATM    0<J*    ADMOTE."      (SatUlHUS    USqUC    ad 

mortem.) 
Saturn  governs  decrepitude  until  death. 

Eighth  aide.  The  dead  body  lying  on  a  mat- 
tress. 

"  ULTIMA  EST  MORS  PENA  PECCATI." 

Last  comes  death,  the  penalty  of  sin. 

§  ci.  Shakespeare's  Seven  Ages  are  of  course 
merely  the  expression  of  this  early  and  well- 
known  system.  He  has  deprived  the  dotage  of 
its  devotion;  but  I  think  wisely,  as  the  Italian 
system  would  imply  that  devotion  was,  or  should 
be,  always  delayed  until  dotage. 

TWENTY-THIRD  CAPITAL.  I  agree  with  Sel- 
vatico  in  thinking  this  has  been  restored.  It  is 
decorated  with  large  and  vulgar  heads. 

§  en.  TWENTY-FOURTH  CAPITAL.  This  be- 
longs to  the  large  shaft  which  sustains  the  great 
party  wall  of  the  Sala  del  Gran  Consiglio.  The 
shaft  is  thicker  than  the  rest;  but  the  capital, 
though  ancient,  is  coarse  and  somewhat  inferior 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  299 

in  design  to  the  others  of  the  series.  It  repre- 
sents the  history  of  marriage:  the  lover  first  see- 
ing his  mistress  at  a  window,  then  addressing 
her,  bringing  her  presents;  then  the  bridal,  the 
birth  and  the  death  of  a  child.  But  I  have  not 
been  able  to  examine  these  sculptures  properly, 
because  the  pillar  is  encumbered  by  the  railing 
which  surrounds  the  two  guns  set  before  the 
Austrian  guard-house. 

§  cm.  TWENTY-FIFTH  CAPITAL.  We  have 
here  the  employments  of  the  months,  with 
which  we  are  already  tolerably  acquainted. 
There  are,  however,  one  or  two  varieties  worth 
noticing  in  this  series. 

First  side.  March.  Sitting  triumphantly  in 
a  rich  dress,  as  the  beginning  of  the  year. 

Second  side.  April  and  May.  April  with  a 
lamb:  May  with  a  feather  fan  in  her  hand. 

Third  side.  June.  Carrying  cherries  in  a 
basket. 

I  did  not  give  this  series  with  the  others  in 
the  previous  chapter,  because  this  representa- 
tion of  June  is  peculiarly  Venetian.  It  is  called 
"  the  month  of  cherries,"  mese  delle  ceriese,  in 
the  popular  rhyme  on  the  conspiracy  of  Tiepolo, 
quoted  above,  Vol.  I. 

The  cherries  principally  grown  near  Venice 
are  of  a  deep  red  color,  and  large,  but  not  of 
high  flavor,  though  refreshing.  They  are  carved 


300  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

upon  the  pillar  with  great  care,  all  their  stalks 
undercut. 

Fourth  side.  July  and  August.  The  first 
reaping;  the  leaves  of  the  straw  being  given, 
shooting  out  from  the  tubular  stalk.  August, 
opposite,  beats  (the  grain?)  in  a  basket. 

Fifth  side.  September.  A  woman  standing 
in  a  wine-tub,  and  holding  a  branch  of  vine. 
Very  beautiful. 

Sixth  side.  October  and  November.  I  could 
not  make  out  their  occupation;  they  seem  to  be 
roasting  or  boiling  some  root  over  a  fire. 

Seventh  side.  December.  Killing  pigs,  as 
usual. 

Eighth  side.  January  warming  his  feet,  and 
February  frying  fish.  This  last  employment  is 
again  as  characteristic  of  the  Venetian  winter  as 
the  cherries  are  of  the  Venetian  summer. 

The  inscriptions  are  undecipherable,  except  a 
few  letters  here  and  there,  and  the  words  MAR- 
cius.  APRILIS,  and  FEBRUARIUS. 

This  is  the  last  of  the  capitals  of  the  early 
palace;  the  next,  or  twenty-sixth  capital,  is  the 
first  of  those  executed  in  the  fifteenth  century 
under  Foscari;  and  hence  to  the  Judgment  an- 
gle the  traveller  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  com- 
pare the  base  copies  of  the  earlier  work  with 
their  originals,  or  to  observe  the  total  want  of 
invention  in  the  Renaissance  sculptor,  wherever 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  30 1 

he  has  depended  on  his  own  resources.  This, 
however,  always  with  the  exception  of  the 
twenty-seventh  and  of  the  last  capital,  which 
are  both  fine. 

I  shall  merely  enumerate  the  subjects  and 
point  out  the  plagiarisms  of  these  capitals,  as 
they  are  not  worth  description. 

§  civ.  TWENTY-SIXTH  CAPITAL.  Copied  from 
the  fifteenth,  merely  changing  the  succession  of 
the  figures. 

TWENTY-SEVENTH  CAPITAL.  I  think  it  possi- 
ble that  this  may  be  part  of  the  old  work  dis- 
placed in  joining  the  new  palace  with  the  old; 
at  all  events,  it  is  well  designed,  though  a  little 
coarse.  It  represents  eight  different  kinds  of 
fruit,  each  in  a  basket;  the  characters  well 
given,  and  groups  well  arranged,  but  without 
much  care  or  finish.  The  names  are  inscribed 
above,  though  somewhat  unnecessarily,  and 
with  certainly  as  much  disrespect  to  the  be- 
holder's intelligence  as  the  sculptor's  art, 
namely,  ZEREXIS,  PIRI,  CHUCUMERIS,  PERSICI, 
ZUCHE,  MOLONI,  Fici,  HUVA.  Zerexis  (cherries) 
and  Zuche  (gourds)  both  begin  with  the  same 
letter,  whether  meant  for  z,  s,  or  c  I  am  not 
sure.  The  Zuche  are  the  common  gourds,  di- 
vided into  two  protuberances,  one  larger  than 
the  other,  like  a  bottle  compressed  near  the  neck; 
and  the  Moloni  are  the  long  water-melons, 


302  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

which,  roasted,  form  a  staple  food  of  the  Vene- 
tians to  this  day. 

§  cv.  TWENTY-EIGHTH  CAPITAL.  Copied 
from  the  seventh. 

TWENTY-NINTH  CAPITAL.  Copied  from  the 
ninth. 

THIRTIETH  CAPITAL.  Copied  from  the  tenth. 
The  "  Accidia  "  is  noticeable  as  having  the  in- 
scription complete,  "ACCIDIA  ME  STRINGIT;" 
and  the  "  Luxuria  "  for  its  utter  want  of  expres- 
sion, having  a  severe  and  calm  face,  a  robe  up 
to  the  neck,  and  her  hand  upon  her  breast. 
The  inscription  is  also  different:  "  LUXURIA 

SUM  STERC8  (?)  INFERI  "  (?). 

THIRTY-FIRST  CAPITAL.  Copied  from  the 
eighth. 

THIRTY-SECOND  CAPITAL.  Has  no  inscrip- 
tion, only  fully  robed  figures  laying  their  hands, 
without  any  meaning,  on  their  own  shoulders, 
heads,  or  chins,  or  on  the  leaves  around  them. 

THIRTY-THIRD  CAPITAL.  Copied  from  the 
twelfth. 

THIRTY-FOURTH  CAPITAL.  Copied  from  the 
eleventh. 

THIRTY-FIFTH  CAPITAL.  Has  children,  with 
birds  or  fruit,  pretty  in  features,  and  utterly  in- 
expressive, like  the  cherubs  of  the  eighteenth 
century. 

§  cvi.  THIRTY-SIXTH  CAPITAL.     This   is  the 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE,  303 

last  of  the  Piazzetta  fafade,  the  elaborate  one 
under  the  Judgment  angle.  Its  foliage  is  copied 
from  the  eighteenth  at  the  opposite  side,  with  an 
endeavor  on  the  part  of  the  Renaissance  sculptor 
to  refine  upon  it,  by  which  he  has  merely  lost 
some  of  its  truth  and  force.  This  capital .  will,, 
however,  be  always  thought,  at  first,  the  most 
beautiful  of  the  whole  series:  and  indeed  it  is 
very  noble;  its  groups  of  figures  most  carefully 
studied,  very  graceful,  and  much  more  pleasing 
than  those  of  the  earlier  work,  though  with  less 
real  power  in  them;  and  its  foliage  is  only  in- 
ferior to  that  of  the  magnificent  Fig-tree  angle. 
It  represents,  on  its  front  or  first  side,  Justice 
enthroned,  seated  on  two  lions;  and  on  the 
seven  other  sides  examples  of  acts  of  justice  or 
good  government,  or  figures  of  lawgivers,  in  the 
following  order: 

Second  side.     Aristotle,  with  two  pupils,  giving 
laws.     Inscribed: 

"  ARISTOT  *  *  CHE  DIE  LEGE." 

Aristotle  who  declares  laws. 

Third  side.     I  have  mislaid  my  note  of  this 
side:  Selvatico  and  Lazari  call  it  "  Isidore  "  (?).* 

*  Can  they  have  mistaken  the  ISIPIONE  of  the  fifth  side 
for  the  word  Isidore  ? 


304  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

Fourth  side.    Solon  with  his  pupils.    Inscribed. 

"  SAL0  UNO  DEI  SETE  SAVI  DI  GRECIA  CHE  DIE  LEGE." 

Solon,  one  of  the  seven  sages  of  Greece,  who  declares 
laws. 

Note,  by  the  by,  the  pure  Venetian  dialect  used 
in  this  capital,  instead  of  the  Latin  in  the  more 
ancient  ones.  One  of  the  seated  pupils  in  this 
sculpture  is  remarkably  beautiful  in  the  sweep  of 
his  flowing  drapery. 

Fifth  side.    The  chastity  of  Scipio.    Inscribed: 

"  ISIPIONE   A    CHASTITA    CH  *  *  *  E    LA    FIA   (e  la   figlia  ?) 
*  *  ARE. " 

A  soldier  in  a  plumed  bonnet  presents  a  kneel- 
ing maiden  to  the  seated  Scipio,  who  turns 
thoughtfully  away. 

Sixth      side.        Numa     Pompilius     building 
churches. 

"NUMA  POMPILIO  IMPERADOR  EDIFICHADOR  DI  TEMPI  E 
CHIESE." 

Numa,  in  a  kind  of  hat  with  a  crown  above  it, 
directing  a  soldier  in  Roman  armor  (note  this, 
as  contrasted  with  the  mail  of  the  earlier  capi- 
tals). They  point  to  a  tower  of  three  stories 
filled  with  tracery. 

Seventh  side.     Moses  receiving  the  law.     In- 
scribed : 

"  QUANDO  MOSE  RECEVE  LA  LEGE  I  SUL  MONTE." 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  305 

Moses  kneels  on  a  rock,  whence  springs  a 
beautifully  fancied  tree,  with  clusters  of  three 
berries  in  the  centre  of  the  three  leaves,  sharp 
and  quaint,  like  fine  Northern  Gothic.  The  half 
figure  of  the  Deity  comes  out  of  the  abacus,  the 
arm  meeting  that  of  Moses,  both  at  full  stretch,. 
with  the  stone  tablets  between. 

Eighth  side.  Trajan  doing  justice  to  the  Widow. 

"  TRAJANO  IMPERADOR  CHE  FA  JUSTITIA  A  LA  VEDOVA." 

He  is  riding  spiritedly,  his  mantle  blown  out 
behind;  the  widow  kneeling  before  his  horse. 

§  cvn.  The  reader  will  observe  that  this 
capital  is  of  peculiar  interest  in  its  relation  to  the 
much  disputed  question  of  the  character  of  the 
later  government  of  Venice.  It  is  the  assertion 
by  that  government  of  its  belief  that  Justice  only 
could  be  the  foundation  of  its  stability;  as  these 
stones  of  Justice  and  Judgment  are  the  founda- 
tion of  its  halls  of  council.  And  this  profession 
of  their  faith  may  be  interpreted  in  two  ways. 
Most  modern  historians  would  call  it,  in  common 
with  the  continual  reference  to  the  principles  of 
justice  in  the  political  and  judicial  language  of 
the  period,*  nothing  more  than  a  cloak  for  con- 
summate violence  and  guilt;  and  it  may  easily 


*  Compare  the  speech  of  the  Doge  Mocenigo,  above, — 
"  first  justice,  and  then  the  interests  of  the  state:"  and  see 
Vol.  III.  Chap.  II.  §ux. 


306  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

be  proved  to  have  been  so  in  myriads  of  in- 
stances. But  in  the  main,  I  believe  the  expres- 
sion of  feeling  to  be  genuine.  I  do  not  believe, 
of  the  majority  of  the  leading  Venetians  of  this 
period  whose  portraits  have  come  down  to  us, 
that  they  were  deliberately  and  everlastingly 
hypocrites.  I  see  no  hypocrisy  in  their  coun- 
tenances. Much  capacity  of  it,  much  subtlety, 
much  natural  and  acquired  reserve;  but  no 
meanness.  On  the  contrary,  infinite  grandeur, 
repose,  courage,  and  the  peculiar  unity  and 
tranquillity  of  expression  which  come  of  sin- 
cerity or  wholeness  of  heart,  and  which  it  would 
take  much  demonstration  to  make  me  believe 
<:ould  by  any  possibility  be  seen  on  the  coun- 
tenance of  an  insincere  man.  I  trust,  therefore, 
that  these  Venetian  nobles  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury did,  in  the  main,  desire  to  do  judgment  and 
justice  to  all  men;  but,  as  the  whole  system  of 
morality  had  been  by  this  time  undermined  by 
the  teaching  of  the  Romish  Church,  the  idea  of 
justice  had  become  separated  from  that  of  truth, 
so  that  dissimulation  in  the  interest  of  the  state 
assumed  the  aspect  of  duty.  We  had,  perhaps, 
better  consider,  with  some  carefulness,  the  mode 
in  which  our  own  government  is  carried  on,  and 
the  occasional  difference  between  parliamentary 
and  private  morality,  before  we  judge  mercilessly 
of  the  Venetians  in  this  respect.  The  secrecy  with 


THE   DUCAL   PALACE.\  3O/ 

which  their  political  and  criminal  trials  were 
conducted,  appears  to  modern  eyes  like  a  con- 
fession of  sinister  intentions;  but  may  it  not 
also  be  considered,  and  with  more  probability, 
as  the  result  of  an  endeavor  to  do  justice  in  an 
age  of  violence  ? — the  only  means  by  which  Law 
could  establish  its  footing  in  the  midst  of  feudal- 
ism. Might  not  Irish  juries  at  this  day  justifia- 
bly desire  to  conduct  their  proceedings  with 
some  greater  approximation  to  the  judicial  prin- 
ciples of  the  Council  of  Ten  ?  Finally,  if  we 
examine,  with  critical  accuracy,  the  evidence  on 
which  our  present  impressions  of  Venetian  gov- 
ernment are  founded,  we  shall  discover,  in  the 
first  place,  that  two-thirds  of  the  traditions  of 
its  cruelties  are  romantic  fables:  in  the  second, 
that  the  crimes  of  which  it  can  be  proved  to  have 
been  guilty,  differ  only  from  those  committed  by 
the  other  Italian  powers  in  being  done  less 
wantonly,  and  under  profounder  conviction  of 
their  political  expediency:  and  lastly,  that  the 
final  degradation  of  the  Venetian  power  appears 
owing  not  so  much  to  the  principles  of  its  gov- 
ernment, as  to  their  being  forgotten  in  the 
pursuit  of  pleasure. 

§  cviii.  We  have  now  examined  the  portions 
of  the  palace  which  contain  the  principal  evi- 
denc.e  of  the  feeling  of  its  builders.  The  capi- 
tals of  the  upper  arcade  are  exceedingly  various 


308  THE   STONES  OF    VEXICE. 

in  their  character;  their  design  is  formed,  as  in 
the  lower  series,  of  eight  leaves,  thrown  into 
volutes  at  the  angles,  and  sustaining  figures  at 
the  flanks;  but  these  figures  have  no  inscrip- 
tions, and  though  evidently  not  without  mean- 
ing, cannot  be  interpreted  without  more  knowl- 
edge than  I  possess  of  ancient  symbolism. 
Many  of  the  capitals  toward  the  Sea  appear  to 
have  been  restored,  and  to  be  rude  copies  of 
the  ancient  ones;  others,  though  apparently 
original,  have  been  somewhat  carelessly  wrought; 
but  those  of  them,  which  are  both  genuine  and 
carefully  treated,  are  even  finer  in  composition 
than  any,  except  the  eighteenth,  in  the  lower 
arcade.  The  traveller  in  Venice  ought  to  as- 
cend into  the  corridor,  and  examine  with  great 
care  the  series  of  capitals  which  extend  on  the 
Piazzetta  side  from  the  Fig-tree  angle  to  the  pi- 
laster which  carries  the  party  wall  of  the  Sala 
del  Gran  Consiglio.  As  examples  of  graceful 
composition  in  massy  capitals  meant  for  hard 
service  and  distant  effect,  these  are  among  the 
finest  things  I  know  in  Gothic  art;  and  that 
above  the  fig-tree  is  remarkable  for  its  sculpture 
of  the  four  winds;  each  on  the  side  turned  to- 
wards the  wind  represented.  Levante,  the  east 
wind;  a  figure  with  rays  round  its  head,  to  show 
that  it  is  always  clear  weather  when  that  wind 
blows,  raising  the  sun  out  of  the  sea:  Hotro,  the 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  3°9 

south  wind;  crowned,  holding  the  sun  in  its 
right  hand:  Ponente,  the  west  wind;  plunging 
the  sun  into  the  sea :  and  Tramontana,  the 
north  wind;  looking  up  at  the  north  star.  This 
capital  should  be  carefully  examined,  if  for  no 
other  reason  than  to  attach  greater  distinctness 
of  idea  to  the  magnificent  verbiage  of  Milton: 

"  Thwart  of  these,  as  fierce, 
Forth  rush  the  Levant  and  the  Ponent  winds, 
Eurus,  and  Zephyr;  with  their  lateral  noise, 
Sirocco  and  Libecchio." 

I  may  also  especially  point  out  the  bird  feeding 
its  three  young  ones  on  the  seventh  pillar  on 
the  Piazzetta  side;  but  there  is  no  end  to  the 
fantasy  of  these  sculptures;  and  the  traveller 
ought  to  observe  them  all  carefully,  until  he 
comes  to  the  great  Pilaster  or  complicated  pier 
which  sustains  the  party  wall  of  the  Sala  del 
Consiglio;  that  is  to  say,  the  forty-seventh  capi- 
tal of  the  whole  series,  counting  from  the  pilas- 
ter of  the  Vine  angle  inclusive,  as  in  the  series 
of  the  lower  arcade.  The  forty-eighth,  forty- 
ninth,  and  fiftieth  are  bad  work,  but  they  are 
old;  the  fifty-first  is  the  first  Renaissance  capi- 
tal of  the  upper  arcade:  the  first  new  lion's  head 
with  smooth  ears,  cut  in  the  time  of  Foscari,  is 
over  the  fiftieth  capital;  and  that  capital,  with 
its  shaft,  stands  on  the  apex  of  the  eighth  arch 
from  the  Sea,  on  the  Piazzetta  side,  of  whicH 


310  THE  STONES  OF   VENICE. 

one  spandril  is  masonry  of  the  fourteenth  and 
the  other  of  the  fifteenth  century. 

§  cix.  The  reader  who  is  not  able  to  exam- 
ine the  building  on  the  spot  may  be  surprised  at 
the  definiteness  with  which  the  point  of  junction 
is  ascertainable;  but  a  glance  at  the  lowest 
range  of  leaves  in  the  opposite  Plate  (XX.)  will 
enable  him  to  judge  of  the  grounds  on  which 
the  above  statement  is  made.  Fig.  12  is  a  clus- 
ter of  leaves  from  the  capital  of  the  Four  Winds; 
early  work  of  the  finest  time.  Fig.  13  is  a  leaf 
from  the  great  Renaissance  capital  at  the  Judg- 
ment angle,  worked  in  imitation  of  the  older 
leafage.  Fig.  14  is  a  leaf  from  one  of  the  Re- 
naissance capitals  of  the  upper  arcade,  which 
are  all  worked  in  the  natural  manner  of  the 
period.  It  will  be  seen  that  it  requires  no  great 
ingenuity  to  distinguish  between  such  design  as 
that  of  fig.  12  and  that  of  fig.  14. 

§  ex.  It  is  very  possible  that  the  reader  may 
at  first  like  fig.  14  best.  I  shall  endeavor,  in  the 
next  chapter,  to  show  why  he  should  not;  but 
it  must  also  be  noted,  that  fig.  12  has  lost,  and 
fig.  14  gained,  both  largely,  under  the  hands  of 
the  engraver.  All  the  bluntness  and  coarse- 
ness of  feeling  in  the  workmanship  of  fig.  14 
have  disappeared  on  this  small  scale,  and  all  the 
subtle  refinements  in  the  broad  masses  of  fig.  12 
have  vanished.  They  could  not,  indeed,  be  ren- 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  311 

dered  in  line  engraving,  unless  by  the  hand  of 
Albert  Durer;  and  I  have,  therefore,  abandoned, 
for  the  present,  all  endeavor  to  represent  any 
more  important  mass  of  the  early  sculpture  of  the 
Ducal  Palace:  but  I  trust  that,  in  a  few  months, 
casts  of  many  portions  will  be  within  the  reach 
of  the  inhabitants  of  London,  and  that  they  will 
be  able  to  judge  for  themselves  of  their  perfect, 
pure,  unlabored  naturalism;  the  freshness,  elas- 
ticity, and  softness  of  their  leafage,  united  with 
the  most  noble  symmetry  and  severe  reserve, — 
no  running  to  waste,  no  loose  or  experimental 
lines,  no  extravagance,  and  no  weakness.  Their 
design  is  always  sternly  architectural;  there  is 
none  of  the  wildness  or  redundance  of  natural 
vegetation,  but  there  is  all  the  strength,  freedom, 
and  tossing  flow  of  the  breathing  leaves,  and  all 
the  undulation  of  their  surfaces,  rippled,  as  they 
grew,  by  the  summer  winds,  as  the  sands  are  by 
the  sea. 

§  cxi.  This  early  sculpture  of  the  Ducal 
Palace,  then,  represents  the  state  of  Gothic  work 
in  Venice  at  its  central  and  proudest  period,  i.  e. 
circa  1350.  After  this  time,  all  is  decline, — of 
what  nature  and  by  what  steps,  we  shall  inquire 
in  the  ensuing  chapter;  for  as  this  investigation, 
though  still  referring  to  Gothic  architecture,  in- 
troduces us  to  the  first  symptoms  of  the  Renais- 


312  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

sance  influence,  I  have  considered  it  as  properly 
belonging  to  the  third  division  of  our  subject. 

§  cxn.  And  as,  under  the  shadow  of  these 
nodding  leaves,  we  bid  farewell  to  the  great 
Gothic  spirit,  here  also  we  may  cease  our  exami- 
nation of  the  details  of  the  Ducal  Palace;  for 
above  its  upper  arcade  there  are  only  the  four 
traceried  windows,*  and  one  or  two  of  the  third 
order  on  the  Rio  Fagade,  which  can  be  de- 
pended upon  as  exhibiting  the  original  work- 
manship of  the  older  palace.  I  examined  the 
capitals  of  the  four  other  windows  on  the  fagade, 
and  of  those  on  the  Piazzetta,  one  by  one,  with 
great  care,  and  I  found  them  all  to  be  of  far  in- 
ferior workmanship  to  those  which  retain  their 
traceries:  I  believe  the  stone  framework  of  these 
windows  must  have  been  so  cracked  and  injured 
by  the  flames  of  the  great  fire,  as  to  render  it 
necessary  to  replace  it  by  new  traceries;  and 
that  the  present  mouldings  and  capitals  are  base 
imitations  of  the  original  ones.  The  traceries 
were  at  first,  however,  restored  in  their  complete 
form,  as  the  holes  for  the  bolts  which  fastened 
the  bases  of  their  shafts  are  still  to  be  seen  in 

*Some  further  details  respecting  these  portions,  as 
well  as  some  necessary  confirmations  of  my  statements 
of  dates,  are,  however,  given  in  Appendix  I.,  Vol  III.  I 
feared  wearying  the  general  reader  by  introducing  them 
into  the  text. 


THE  DUCAL   PALACE.  313 

the  window-sills,  as  well  as  the  marks  of  the 
inner  mouldings  on  the  soffits.  How  much  the 
stone  facing  of  the  fagade,  the  parapets,  and  the 
shafts  and  niches  of  the  angles,  retain  of  their 
original  masonry,  it  is  also  impossible  to  deter- 
mine; but  there  is  nothing  in  the  workmanship 
of  any  of  them  demanding  especial  notice;  still 
less  in  the  large  central  windows  on  each  fafade 
which  are  entirely  of  Renaissance  execution. 
All  that  is  admirable  in  these  portions  of  the 
building  is  the  disposition  of  their  various  parts 
and  masses,  which  is  without  doubt  the  same  as. 
in  the  original  fabric,  and  calculated,  when  seen 
from  a  distance,  to  produce  the  same  impres- 
sion. 

§  cxin.  Not  so  in  the  interior.  All  vestige 
of  the  earlier  modes  of  decoration  was  here,  of 
course,  destroyed  by  the  fires;  and  the  severe 
and  religious  work  of  Guariento  and  Bellini  has 
been  replaced  by  the  wildness  of  Tintoret  and 
the  luxury  of  Veronese.  But  in  this  case,  though 
widely  different  in  temper,  the  art  of  the  renew- 
al was  at  least  intellectually  as  great  as  that 
which  had  perished:  and  though  the  halls  of 
the  Ducal  Palace  are  no  more  representative  of 
the  character  of  the  men  by  whom  it  was  built, 
each  of  them  is  still  a  colossal  casket  of  price- 
less treasure;  a  treasure  whose  safety  has  till 
now  depended  on  its  being  despised,  and  which 


314  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

at  this  moment,  and  as  I  write,  is  piece  by  piece 
being  destroyed  for  ever. 

§  cxiv.  The  reader  will  forgive  my  quitting 
our  more  immediate  subject,  in  order  briefly  to 
explain  the  causes  and  the  nature  of  this  de- 
struction; for  the  matter  is  simply  the  most  im- 
portant of  all  that  can  be  brought  under  our 
present  consideration  respecting  the  state  of  art 
in  Europe. 

The  fact  is,  that  the  greater  number  of  per- 
sons or  societies  throughout  Europe,  whom 
wealth,  or  chance,  or  inheritance  has  put  in 
possession  of  valuable  pictures,  do  not  know  a 
good  picture  from  a  bad  one,*  and  have  no  idea 
in  what  the  value  of  a  picture  really  consists. 
The  reputation  of  certain  work  is  raised  partly  by 
accident,  partly  by  the  just  testimony  of  artists, 
partly  by  the  various  and  generally  bad  taste  of 
the  public  (no  picture,  that  I  know  of,  has  ever, 
in  modern  times,  attained  popularity,  in  the  full 
sense  of  the  term,  without  having  some  exceed- 
ingly bad  qualities  mingled  with  its  good  ones), 

*  Many  persons,  capable  of  quickly  sympathizing  with 
any  excellence,  when  once  pointed  out  to  them,  easily 
deceive  themselves  into  the  supposition  that  they  are 
judges  of  art.  There  is  only  one  real  test  of  such  power 
of  judgment.  Can  they,  at  a  glance,  discover  a  good 
picture  obscured  by  the  filth,  and  confused  among  the 
rubbish,  of  the  pawnbroker's  or  dealer's  garret  ? 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  31$ 

and  when  this  reputation  has  once  been  com- 
pletely established,  it  little  matters  to  what  state 
the  picture  may  be  reduced:  few  minds  are  so 
completely  devoid  of  imagination  as  to  be  unable 
to  invest  it  with  the  beauties  which  they  have 
heard  attributed  to  it. 

§  cxv.  This  being  so,  the  pictures  that  are 
most  valued  are  for  the  most  part  those  by  mas- 
ters of  established  renown,  which  are  highly  or 
neatly  finished,  and  of  a  size  small  enough  to 
admit  of  their  being  placed  in  galleries  or  saloons, 
so  as  to  be  made  subjects  of  ostentation,  and  to 
be  easily  seen  by  a  crowd.  For  the  support  of 
the  fame  and  value  of  such  pictures,  little  more 
is  necessary  than  that  they  should  be  kept  bright,, 
partly  by  cleaning,  which  is  incipient  destruc- 
tion, and  partly  by  what  is  called  "  restoring," 
that  is,  painting  over,  which  is  of  course  total 
destruction.  Nearly  all  the  gallery  pictures  in 
modern  Europe  have  been  more  or  less  destroyed 
by  one  or  other  of  these  operations,  generally 
exactly  in  proportion  to  the  estimation  in  which 
they  are  held;  and  as,  originally,  the  smaller  and 
more  highly  finished  works  of  any  great  master 
are  usually  his  worst,  the  contents  of  many  of 
our  most  celebrated  galleries  are  by  this  time,  in 
reality,  of  very  small  value  indeed. 

§  cxvi.  On  the  other  hand,  the  most  precious 
works  of  any  noble  painter  are  usually  those 


THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 


which  have  been  done  quickly,  and  in  the  heat 
of  the  first  thought,  on  a  large  scale,  for  places 
where  there  was  little  likelihood  of  their  being 
well  seen,  or  for  patrons  from  whom  there  was 
little  prospect  of  rich  remuneration.  In  general, 
the  best  things  are  done  in  this  way,  or  else  in 
the  enthusiasm  and  pride  of  accomplishing  some 
great  purpose,  such  as  painting  a  cathedral  or  a 
campo-santo  from  one  end  to  the  other,  especially 
when  the  time  has  been  short,  and  circumstances 
disadvantageous. 

§  cxvn.  Works  thus  executed  are  of  course 
despised,  on  account  of  their  quantity,  as  well 
as  their  frequent  slightness,  in  the  places  where 
they  exist;  and  they  are  too  large  to  be  portable, 
and  too  vast  and  comprehensive  to  be  read  on 
the  spot,  in  the  hasty  temper  of  the  present  age. 
They  are,  therefore,  almost  universally  neglected, 
whitewashed  by  custodes,  shot  at  by  soldiers, 
suffered  to  drop  from  the  walls  piecemeal  in 
powder  and  rags  by  society  in  general;  but, 
which  is  an  advantage  more  than  counterbalanc- 
ing all  this  evil,  they  are  not  often  "  restored." 
What  is  left  of  them,  however  fragmentary,  how- 
ever ruinous,  however  obscured  and  defiled,  is 
almost  always  the  real  thing;  there  are  no  fresh 
readings:  and  therefore  the  greatest  treasures  of 
art  which  Europe  at  this  moment  possesses  are 
pieces  of  old  plaster  on  ruinous  brick  walls,  where 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  317 

the  lizards  burrow  and  bask,  and  which  few  other 
living  creatures  ever  approach;  and  torn  sheets 
of  dim  canvas,  in  waste  corners  of  churches;  and 
mildewed  stains,  in  the  shape  of  human  figures, 
on  the  walls  of  dark  chambers,  which  now  and 
then  an  exploring  traveller  causes  to  be  unlocked 
by  their  tottering  custode,  looks  hastily  round, 
and  retreats  from  in  a  weary  satisfaction  at  his. 
accomplished  duty. 

§  cxvin.  Many  of  the  pictures  on  the  ceilings 
and  walls  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  by  Paul  Veronese 
and  Tintoret,  have  been  more  or  less  reduced, 
by  neglect,  to  this  condition.  Unfortunately 
they  are  not  altogether  without  reputation,  and 
their  state  has  drawn  the  attention  of  the  Vene- 
tian authorities  and  academicians.  It  constantly 
happens,  that  public  bodies  who  will  not  pay 
five  pounds  to  preserve  a  picture,  will  pay  fifty 
to  repaint  it;*  and  when  I  was  at  Venice  in 
1846,  there  were  two  remedial  operations  carry - 

*  This  is  easily  explained.  There  are,  of  course,  in 
every  place  and  at  all  periods,  bad  painters  who  conscien- 
tiously believe  that  they  can  improve  every  picture  they 
touch;  and  these  men  are  generally,  in  their  presumption, 
the  most  influential  over  the  innocence,  whether  of  mon- 
archs  or  municipalities.  The  carpenter  and  slater  have 
little  influence  in  recommending  the  repairs  of  the  roof; 
but  the  bad  painter  has  great  influence,  as  well  as  interest, 
in  recommending  those  of  the  picture. 


318  THE   STONES  OF    VENICE. 

ing  on,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  in  the  two 
buildings  which  contain  the  pictures  of  greatest 
value  in  the  city  (as  pieces  of  color,  of  greatest 
value  in  the  world),  curiously  illustrative  of  this 
peculiarity  in  human  nature.  Buckets  were  set 
on  the  floor  of  the  Scuola  di  San  Rocco,  in  every 
shower,  to  catch  the  rain  which  came  through 
the  pictures  of  Tintoret  on  the  ceiling;  while  in 
the  Ducal  Palace,  those  of  Paul  Veronese  were 
themselves  laid  on  the  floor  to  be  repainted;  and 
I  was  myself  present  at  the  re-illumination  of 
the  breast  of  a  white  horse,  with  a  brush,  at  the 
end  of  a  stick  five  feet  long,  luxuriously  dipped 
in  a  common  house-painter's  vessel  of  paint. 

This  was,  of  course,  a  large  picture.  The 
process  has  already  been  continued  in  an  equally 
destructive,  though  somewhat  more  delicate 
manner,  over  the  whole  of  the  humbler  canvases 
on  the  ceiling  of  the  Sala  del  Gran  Consiglio; 
and  I  heard  it  threatened  when  I  was  last  in 
Venice  (1851-2)  to  the  "Paradise"  at  its  ex- 
tremity, which  is  yet  in  tolerable  condition, — 
the  largest  work  of  Tintoret,  and  the  most  won- 
derful piece  of  pure,  manly,  and  masterly  oil- 
painting  in  the  world. 

§  cxix.  I  leave  these  facts  to  the  consideration 
of  the  European  patrons  of  art.  Twenty  years 
hence  they  will  be  acknowledged  and  regretted; 
at  present,  I  am  well  aware,  that  it  is  of  little 


THE  DUCAL  PALACE.  319 

use  to  bring  them  forward,  except  only  to  ex- 
plain the  present  impossibility  of  stating  what 
pictures  are,  and  what  were,  in  the  interior  of  the 
Ducal  Palace.  I  can  only  say,  that  in  the  winter 
of  1851,  the  "Paradise"  of  Tintoret  was  still 
comparatively  uninjured,  and  that  the  Camera 
di  Collegio,  and  its  antechamber,  and  the  Sala 
de'  Pregadi  were  full  of  pictures  by  Veronese 
and  Tintoret,  that  made  their  walls  as  precious 
as  so  many  kingdoms;  so  precious  indeed,  and 
so  full  of  majesty,  that  sometimes  when  walking 
at  evening  on  the  Lido,  whence  the  great  chain 
of  the  Alps,  crested  with  silver  clouds,  might  be 
seen  rising  above  the  front  of  the, Ducal  Palace, 
I  used  to  feel  as  much  awe  in  gazing  on  the 
building  as  on  the  hills,  and  could  believe  that 
God  had  done  a  greater  work  in  breathing  into 
the  narrowness  of  dust  the  mighty  spirits  by 
whom  its  haughty  walls  had  been  raised,  and  its 
burning  legends  written,  than  in  lifting  the  rocks 
of  granite  higher  than  the  clouds  of  heaven,  and 
veiling  them  with  their  various  mantle  of  purple 
flower  and  shadowy  pine. 


END    OF    VOL.    I, 


NOTE. 


I  HAVE  printed  the  chapter  on  the  Ducal 
Palace,  quite  one  of  the  most  important  pieces 
of  work  done  in  my  life,  without  alteration  of 
its  references  to  the  plates  of  the  first  edition, 
because  I  hope  both  to  republish  some  of  those 
plates,  and  together  with  them,  a  few  permanent 
photographs  (both  from  the  sculpture  of  the 
Palace  itself,  and  from  my  own  drawings  of  its 
detail),  which  may  be  purchased  by  the  posses- 
sors of  this  smaller  edition  to  bind  with  the  book 
or  not,  as  they  please.  This  separate  publication 
I  can  now  soon  set  in  hand;  and  I  believe  it  will 
cause  much  less  confusion  to  leave  for  the  pres- 
ent the  references  to  the  old  plates  untouched. 
The  wood-blocks  used  for  the  first  three  figures 
in  this  chapter,  are  the  original  ones:  that  of 
the  Ducal  Palace  fa9ade  was  drawn  on  the 
wood  by  my  own  hand,  and  cost  me  more 
trouble  than  it  is  worth,  being  merely  given  for 
division  and  proportion.  The  greater  part  of 
the  first  volume,  omitted  in  this  edition  after 
"  the  Quarry,"  will  be  republished  in  the  series 

321 


322  NOTE. 

of  my  reprinted  works,  with  its  original  wood- 
blocks. 

But  my  mind  is  mainly  set  now  on  getting 
some  worthy  illustration  of  the  St.  Mark's  mosa- 
ics, and  of  such  remains  of  the  old  capitals  (now 
for  ever  removed,  in  process  of  the  Palace  re- 
storation, from  their  life  in  sea  wind  and  sun- 
light, and  their  ancient  duty,  to  a  museum-grave) 
as  I  have  useful  record  of,  drawn  in  their  native 
light.  The  series,  both  of  these  and  of  the 
earlier  mosaics,  of  which  the  sequence  is  sketched 
in  the  preceding  volume,  and  farther  explained 
in  the  third  number  of  "St.  Mark's  Rest," 
become  to  me  every  hour  of  my  life  more  pre- 
cious both  for  their  art  and  their  meaning;  and 
if  any  of  my  readers  care  to  help  me,  in  my  old 
age,  to  fulfil  my  life's  work  rightly,  let  them  send 
what  pence  they  can  spare  for  these  objects  to 
my  publisher,  Mr.  Allen,  Sunnyside,  Orpington, 
Kent. 

Since  writing  the  first  part  of  this  note,  I  have 
received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Burne  Jones,  assuring 
me  of  his  earnest  sympathy  in  its  object,  and 
giving  me  hope  even  of  his  superintendence  of 
the  drawings,  which  I  have  already  desired  to 
be  undertaken.  But  I  am  no  longer  able  to 
continue  work  of  this  kind  at  my  own  cost;  and 
the  fulfilment  of  my  purpose  must  entirely 
depend  on  the  money-help  given  me  by  my 
readers. 


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